What Comes Next
by Cheeky Jake
Summary: One version of what might have happened after the final battle.
1. Chapter 1

This is one idea of what might have happened after the war ended but before the epilogue. There are a million of these, but this one's mine. Canon-compliant.

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><p>"Harry? Harry, are you up there?"<p>

Harry Potter opened his eyes to the distant sound of Ginny Weasley's voice. Every muscle in his body protested his movements as he rose from his four-poster to open the door to the boys' dormitory.

"Hi, Ginny."

She was standing at the foot of the stairs, her pale face blotched with pink. "Ron said he couldn't wake you."

Harry considered this for a moment, and he made a face. "What in Merlin's name woke _Ron_ before _me_?"

Ginny allowed a slight grin. "Mum," she replied. They stared at each other for a moment, until she looked away. "Um . . . Supper is over, but I could probably get Winky to bring you something to eat."

"Supper?" questioned Harry, who was then caught by a yawn. He avoided stretching since he knew it would hurt. "Have I really been asleep that long?"

Ginny nodded. "I think it's about nine o'clock." Harry rumbled something as he gave in to another violent yawn, but she couldn't make it out. "Are you hungry?"

He evaded her question. "Did you eat?"

"A little," she replied, which was a more honest answer to the same question asked by her mother.

"Why didn't Ron wake me?" he asked, padding gingerly down the stone steps.

"Mum told him not to. I think she's trying to give you some space," said Ginny. "Apparently you vanquished a Dark Lord or something."

He smiled a little at her dry remark. "I wish I were happier about it." He took a moment to look around the beloved common room, and then moved to sit down on a care-worn sofa.

Ginny sat down next to him. "I think, eventually, you will be."

Harry turned to look at her. Her face was like stone; Harry knew that she was struggling to maintain her composure. When a tear slipped down her cheek, he gently said, "Ginny . . . I'm sorry about Fred."

More tears glimmered in her eyes. "I've never seen George so quiet. It's weird. More than that – it's . . . I dunno. Unsettling."

"What about your parents?"

"They're numb, I think," she replied. "Less exhausting to feel nothing, I guess. Mum's anxious to get home."

Harry nodded, not surprised that she or anyone else would want to be at home. Especially when home was the Burrow – all mismatched furniture and scattered teacups, half-read books and smiling pictures, afghans and quilts made by hand, and the rolling apple orchard just beyond the back door. "I miss it," he murmured.

She looked up at him. "Home?"

"Yeah. The Burrow . . . always felt like home." He was quiet a moment, staring into the cold fireplace grate. "I s'pose I'll have to find one now."

"Find what?"

"A home," he replied. "Not like the Dursleys want me back."

"We do," said Ginny, reaching out to take his hand. She met his eyes and he could see the sincerity in them. "We do, Harry."

He scooted toward her just a little more, and she did the same. To encourage him, she moved her free hand to his knee.

"You're safe," she said. "We're all safe now."

He put his free hand on her cheek gently, and as soon as he did he knew it wouldn't be enough. He slipped his fingers up to her ear and then into her hair and around the back of her neck, and pulled her head down to his chest. Her hair didn't smell of flowers, the scent that he'd dreamed of for so long, but he didn't care because she was there, in his arms. Safe, like she said. Overwhelmingly sad, by equal measures relieved, and _safe_.

Ginny's arms had snaked their way around Harry's waist, and they held him gently for a moment, until, moved to hold him tighter and comfort him, she shifted her position and tightened her arms around his chest.

Blinding pain suffused through his upper torso and he reacted immediately with a yell of pain. Startled, she let go and backed away. "Harry! What's wrong?"

He tried to answer, but he was struggling to breathe and stay conscious, doubled over on the sofa.

"Harry?"

He tried to move and was mildly successful in taking a deep breath and sitting back. "That hurt," he croaked.

She put her hand on his knee. "I was just giving you a hug," she replied.

"Yes . . . I know," he replied, "and I don't meant to discourage you, at all, but I sort of got hit with a Killing Curse not very long ago, and it turns out those twinge a bit when they don't kill you."

She was quiet for a moment. "You got hit with a what?"

"Killing Curse . . . you know the one . . . your mum used it, quite spectacularly, on Bellatrix a few hours ago. But it's fine . . . I'm fine. Pain is good. Pain is cleansing."

"Killing curses _kill _people, Harry. Except you . . . you know . . . the one time." She gestured lazily to the scar on his forehead.

Relaxing a little, he sat up as much as he could and pulled up his shirt to show her what he was sure would be a round, angry bruise on his chest. "Twice, actually."

Ginny hesitated before she answered. "There's nothing on your chest."

He lowered his shirt and looked away, a little embarrassed. He had forgotten that the Killing Curse left no mark. "Sorry," he said, his voice small. "Feels like my ribs are all broken."

"I don't understand, Harry."

He met her intense gaze. "I'm sorry," he said. "It has to do with Horcruxes . . . it's kind of complicated. I don't think I can talk about it right now."

Her eyes flashed, but it was brief. "You should go to Madam Pomfrey," she said, her voice soft.

Harry shook his head and offered her his right hand, palm up. She took it. "I missed you, Ginny," he said. When she said nothing, he scooted a little closer. "I know you were angry at me for not backing you up when your mum wanted you to stay in the Room of Requirement."

She shook her head and looked away. "Not really. I mean – at the time, yeah. But . . . maybe it would have been better if I hadn't seen what I've seen." Her eyes brimming with tears again, she looked down at their entwined hands. "What happened?" she asked, running her thumb across one of his many scars.

Harry paused before he replied. "Do you mean . . . since I left, or specifically to my hand?"

She looked up at him, considering the question. "Promise me _right now_ that you'll tell me everything," she said, her voice firm. "Absolutely everything, even the parts you want to leave out."

He didn't hesitate. "I promise. Everything."

"For now, just tell me about your hand."

"We were in Bellatrix Lestrange's vault at Gringotts," he replied. "Everything was cursed. Those are burns. . . . Hermione put dittany on them."

"You should go to Madam Pomfrey," she repeated.

Harry shook his head. "She's got enough to handle without me." Before she could protest, he stood and offered her his hand again. "C'mon. Let's go see your mum and dad . . . and I'd like to speak to George."

Ginny hesitated for a moment before she said, "Don't take this the wrong way, but . . . what could you possibly say?"

"I'm sorry," he replied. "I know I can't make it better . . . I know I can't make it all right. But I owe it to George to look him in the face and at least say I'm sorry."

"Harry . . . no one blames you for any of this."

"I do," he confessed.

Ginny looked away for a moment. "That's why you went to the Forbidden Forest," she surmised. "You thought he'd stop killing us if he had you."

"Yes and no," Harry replied quietly. "Like I said, it's kind of complicated."

She gingerly took his outstretched hand and stood. They walked hand in hand out of the portrait hole and down to the Great Hall. Harry could see students and their parents helping to clear rubble and repair the ancient castle. Ginny found her parents and approached them while Harry waved and went in search of her brother.

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><p>Madam Pomfrey had moved her operations to two unused classrooms not far from the Great Hall; one for the living and one for the dead. By this time, most families had made arrangements for their loved ones' remains. The Weasleys were simply waiting for George to be ready to move away from Fred, who lay at the far end of the classroom next to a window where the bright moon shone upon his face.<p>

Harry approached George quietly and stood a respectable distance away. After a moment, he issued a low but audible greeting. George seemed to know that he was there, as he was not startled by Harry's voice.

"Hello, Harry."

"Would you mind if I sat down?"

"No, not at all."

There was silence in the big, cold room for a long while. Harry could only watch George watching Fred, trying to figure out what to say.

"Before we left," said George suddenly, sparing Harry the trouble, "d'you know what he said to me?"

Harry shook his head. "What did he say?"

"He said, 'Name your first born after me.' It's like he knew he wasn't coming back." A tear trickled down his cheek. "I never did anything without him. Even when we were children if he went somewhere without me, I was lost. He was my best mate my entire life, Harry. What am I supposed to do without him?"

Not knowing what to say, Harry placed his right hand on George's left shoulder. "I'm so sorry, George."

George was quiet a while longer. "At least he didn't die for nothing, eh?" he said, tears now flowing freely down his face. "He died a hero, defending his brothers. Who would've expected that? Last time we were here we left a swamp behind."

Despite himself, Harry smiled a little, remembering that now-infamous day. After another pause, he said, "They say twins share a soul. Maybe that means that through you, Fred will never really die. Maybe . . . I don't know. Fred will always live in everyone's hearts . . . everyone really loved him . . . but in you, maybe . . . he'll live on as a part of your soul."

George said nothing at first; after a moment, he decided on, "That's really creepy, mate."

Harry couldn't help it; he grinned. "Sorry."

"No . . . don't be sorry. Look, I know you're trying to help . . . everyone is . . . but no one really knows how I feel, not even Mum. Not even me, really." He put his arm around Harry's shoulders and squeezed. "I best get back to Mum. She wants to take him home." He then turned to finally look at the man sitting next to him. "Blimey, Harry. You look like hell."

Harry looked back at him. "You don't look so good yourself."

George looked back at Fred one last time. Reaching out to lay his left hand on top of his brother's right, he patted the now-cold skin and murmured, "I won't forget you."

What else was there to say? Harry rose when George did, and followed him out of the classroom.

It was too dark to fully appreciate being back at the Burrow when they finally arrived. Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys all settled into beds and onto cots without much prodding, but the usual silence and settled breathing never descended upon the house. Very little sleep was had that night.

In the morning the silence lingered, even when Mrs. Weasley came down and started making masses of food. Harry had never seen Mr. Weasley do anything in the kitchen, but he stuck with his wife, almost literally, as though they were the glue that held each other together.

Harry could easily guess that Mrs. Weasley was cooking only partly to feed her family; that there was likely comfort in the routine and in being useful. He soon realized, however, that the food would be necessary – as the clock drew just past ten, Hagrid arrived, and after him there was such an influx of people at the Burrow that Harry wondered if it hadn't become a wayside rest between Hogwarts and home for most families. Everyone had come to mourn Fred, to bring food and stories and comfort to the grieving family. They were between tears and elation; there was so much to rejoice for, and yet so much to mourn.

Harry wanted to be as inconspicuous as he always had been there, but it was not to be – once they caught sight of him, everyone grabbed his hand to congratulate him, to commiserate with him, to celebrate with him. He didn't feel right escaping to Ron's room, although that was where he would dearly have loved to go. While Mr. Weasley and George snuck away to tend to Fred and arrangements for his funeral, Mrs. Weasley continued to distract herself in the kitchen.

Soon enough, Kingsley Shacklebolt appeared, and for a while, the attention was drawn to him, away from Harry. Harry used these few moments to seek out Ron and Hermione, who were quietly talking in the sitting room. Both of them smiled wearily at him when he entered.

"I wish I could eat," said Harry, who didn't want to get into deep conversations. It was just too much – his head was swimming, and despite sleeping for hours after the final battle, he was exhausted. "I've really missed your mum's cooking."

Ron smiled at him. "Me too. Although she isn't the only one who wants to feed people – practically everyone's brought something. Apparently we're supposed to eat our grief."

Hermione smiled and chuckled a little; when she looked over at Ron, who was sitting to her left on the couch, Harry noticed that they were holding hands. It made him smile. Before he could comment on it, however, they were joined by Kingsley Shacklebolt and another wizard who was about as tall and built like a brick house.

"Hello, Mr. Weasley," said Shacklebolt, in his slow, deep voice, and Ron and Hermione both stood. Shacklebolt extended his hand and shook the younger man's. "I'm very sorry for your loss. Fred was a good man."

"Thank you," replied Ron, instantly uncomfortable with the attention.

Shacklebolt's eyes shifted to Hermione. "Miss Granger, when do you plan to retrieve your parents from Australia?" he asked.

"After the funerals," she replied, once she'd shaken his hand. "Just a few days – I really don't want to wait much longer than that."

"The Ministry will assist in whatever way we can," offered Shacklebolt.

Hermione nodded her thanks, and then everyone's attention shifted to Harry.

He swallowed and didn't know why he was nervous. "Hello, Minister."

"Mr. Harry Potter," he said slowly, and in his voice Ron and Hermione could hear the reverence that Harry couldn't. "The Wizarding world owes you a debt of gratitude."

Harry shook his head. "No more than we owe to the people who died at Hogwarts – or anywhere else, for that matter," replied the younger man. "Or Ron and Hermione – honestly, that lunatic _chose_ to hunt me down; I didn't have a say in the matter. But these two – they made a conscious decision to help me, to protect their families as much as they could and follow a hunted man. What's that make them?"

"Lunatics, I expect," replied Ron without thinking. The wizard who had come with Shacklebolt snickered.

Shacklebolt smiled. "I don't disagree with either of you, but I'm not here to debate the issue," he replied. "I'm here because we need a statement from you."

"A statement?"

"Yes," replied Shacklebolt. "We need to know what went on in the year since you left. You've mentioned some very dark things, Harry, and people want answers – some of which they've been waiting on for almost seventeen years."

Harry nodded. "Right. Of course." But he didn't want to think about it any more, he just wanted to be with his lunatic friends and sleep. And then eat. And then, snog Ginny's lips off. Thinking for a moment, nervous under Shacklebolt's kind but unwavering gaze, he sputtered for a moment before he said, "Minister-"

"Don't Minister me, Harry. It's Kingsley."

His face flushed and he nodded again. "Kingsley, then," he continued, "who do I have to give the statement to? Just you?"

Shacklebolt shook his head. "No, Harry. You'll need to speak to the Wizengamot."

In his present grieving and sleep-deprived state, Harry's reaction was relatively violent. "No – absolutely not. The last thing I need right now is to be on trial."

The Minister raised an eyebrow. "It's not a trial, Harry. You'll just be giving a statement."

"It won't be the same as before," said Hermione soothingly, and Harry turned to look at her. "When you almost got expelled. This is different – they need to know what happened. And we'll be there – Ron and me. I expect they want statements from all of us."

Shacklebolt nodded in affirmation. "It'll be a closed session, Harry."

Harry took a breath and considered the matter. "How closed?" he asked.

"Very," replied Shacklebolt. "Top officers only. As I said . . . you and Voldemort talked about some very dark matters."

"Can the Weasleys attend?" When it looked like Shacklebolt might say no, Harry interrupted. "They deserve to know where Ron's been. They're like family to Hermione and me – and, frankly, Kingsley, I only want to have to tell it once."

Shacklebolt paused. After a moment, he nodded slowly. "I'll see what I can do. They'd like to see you tomorrow at ten o'clock."

"I'm not going if the Weasleys can't," said Harry gently. "So we'll all see you tomorrow at ten."

The Minister nodded. "Good enough," he said. "There is another matter that I wanted to discuss with you – with all three of you. This," he gestured to the well-built wizard behind him, who moved closer to the group, "is Gawain Robards, who is presently the head of the Auror Office."

"Hello," said Robards pleasantly, in a voice that was as low as they had expected. "It's a very great pleasure to meet all of you."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione shook his hand, and he continued on. "I'll cut to the chase here, since I'm sure you need to be with your family right now. I wanted to inform you that places have been reserved for all three of you – and some of your friends – in the Auror department."

The three young people looked at each other. "But . . . we haven't got any NEWTs," protested Hermione. "We don't qualify as Aurors."

Robards smiled widely. "You just had a hand in defeating the darkest wizard in recent history," he replied. "What about that doesn't qualify you?" When no one had an answer for him, he pressed on. "Realize that this is not a decision that one enters into lightly, and that I don't expect you to answer immediately. However, we would be quite honored if you would join us."

"Without NEWTs?" asked Hermione dubiously.

"Yes, Miss Granger," said Shacklebolt, amused. "Without NEWTs."

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><p>Hope you enjoy it so far - a review would be great! Thanks for reading!<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Shacklebolt and Robards left soon afterwards, once they had eaten some of the food that Mrs. Weasley insisted upon giving them. It wasn't long until Ginny found Harry, Ron, and Hermione, sitting at a table near the back of the house sipping pumpkin juice.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked, moving to sit down next to Harry.

Ron stared at her. "What if we'd said no?"

"You wouldn't have," she replied confidently.

"How's George?" asked Harry, who wanted to wrap his hand around hers.

Ginny shrugged. "I don't really know," she replied. "He came home with Dad and went right to his room. Dad says he's coping all right, but . . . I don't know. They really were inseparable."

Hermione sighed, and Harry thought with mild amusement that she would probably spend the next few days researching the connection between twins, trying to find something to help George out. The quartet fell silent for a while, but it wasn't awkward – Ron and Hermione were holding hands, enjoying the sun on their faces, and Harry and Ginny were studiously avoiding looking at each other, while trying to figure out how to discreetly take each others' hands.

Soon a large, snowy owl swooped down and landed on the picnic table with a letter addressed to Harry in its beak. He was reminded fiercely of Hedwig, and took the letter and moved to stroke the graceful bird's head, only to have his finger rather decidedly bitten.

"Ow! Ruddy bird!" cursed Harry, and shooed him away.

Ron sniggered. "Not related to Hedwig then," he said. Hermione punched his arm and Ginny kicked him under the table. Harry laughed at the ordinariness of the exchange and moved to open his letter.

_Dear Harry,_

_The Wizengamot has approved the presence of Aurthur, Molly, William, Fleur, Charles, Percy, George, and Ginevra Weasley during the delivery of your statement._

_I'll see you, Miss Granger, and Mr. Weasley at ten o'clock tomorrow._

_Sincerely,_

_Kingsley_

"What statement?" asked Ginny, who had read the letter over his shoulder.

"The statement that tells what we've been doing for the last nine months," he answered her ruefully. "It'll be really interesting – all the camping we did . . . the mushrooms we ate . . . yeah. Like an action movie."

Ginny squished up her face. "What's a movie?" she asked.

"It's a Muggle thing," replied Harry, smiling. "Ron, can you. . . ." He handed the letter to Ron, who nodded and rose. Hermione offered to come along, and grasped his hand as they strolled toward the house.

Ginny watched them depart, and waited until they were out of earshot to note, "They're holding hands."

Harry turned toward her. "Yeah," he replied with a slight smile. "It's nice, you know?"

Ginny's left eyebrow shot up. "Finally figured out that they like each other, have they?"

He nodded, catching her lovely chocolate eyes. "I don't expect much will change between them. Except the snogging."

She smiled slightly. "Maybe they'll be nicer to each other after a little snogging."

Harry snorted. "I hope so," he said. "As long as he doesn't turn into Won-Won again."

"Little chance of that happening – it's Hermione we're talking about," laughed Ginny, but her laughter faded quickly and she turned away from Harry. It felt wrong, somehow, to laugh, even in the face of such a happy development.

Harry felt the loss of the eye contact keenly, and finally reached out to touch her hand. He cleared his throat. "I think it's okay to be happy for them."

She turned her face up to his again. "I am. It's just. . . . I don't know. It's all so confusing, Harry."

He nodded. "I know."

"I could do with some quiet," she said, rising, but not relinquishing her hand. "Will you walk with me?"

He smiled, grateful, and rose to walk with her in the Weasley's orchard.

* * *

><p>Two days later, Fred's funeral was scheduled in the morning; Lupin and Tonks' in the afternoon. The sun was just beginning to make its ascent when Harry gave up hope of sleep, and went downstairs. He entered the kitchen to find Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sitting at the table, silent with their hands in front of them.<p>

"Good morning," he said quietly.

Mrs. Weasley turned and smiled at him. "Good morning, Harry dear," she said. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Yes, please," he said gratefully, and then took a seat next to Mr. Weasley as she rose and went to the kettle.

"Is Ron sleeping?" asked the older man.

"Yeah," replied Harry. "He didn't last night, or the night before, so I'm glad."

Mr. Weasley smiled as his wife placed a cup of tea in front of Harry. "Molly brews a nice sleeping draught," he said.

Harry's brow wrinkled. "But Ron was asleep when I went upstairs last night."

"He told me that Hermione couldn't sleep," said Mrs. Weasley as she sat down. She sipped her tea, pausing a moment. "I think he may have been asking for something for himself, too. . . . Although nobody's been able to sleep much in the last few days."

"I didn't think Hermione would take a sleeping draught," said Harry.

"That's why I put it into her tea," said Mrs. Weasley. "Ron's too."

Harry eyed his tea suspiciously. Mr. Weasley chuckled.

"It's just tea, Harry," he said fondly, and sipped of his own cup to prove it.

The younger man smiled a little, embarrassed, and picked up the cup. Putting his nose close to the rim, he inhaled deeply, and then took a gentle sip, careful of the hot liquid. When he set it down in front of him again, he watched the steam rise from the cup. "You make really good tea, Mrs. Weasley."

She blushed a little and thanked him. After a moment or two, Harry cleared his throat. "Is there . . . is there any news about Hogwarts?" he asked.

Mr. Weasley raised an eyebrow. "Hogwarts?" he asked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean – once repairs are completed, will classes resume?" asked Harry. "I expect McGonagall is in charge, and she's not likely to let much time slip away before she gets things back in order."

Although confused as to why Harry cared, Mr. Weasley answered, "I expect an owl in the next day or two. She'll want to get students caught up, if she can. Although, I don't know how focused any of them will be. I don't know anyone who hasn't lost someone."

Harry nodded and looked at the cup again, his thoughts swimming with Fred, Lupin, and Tonks.

"You'll meet your godson today, Harry," said Mrs. Weasley with a little smile. "Are you nervous?"

He nodded, but stared into his cup. "I've never . . . you know. Held . . . a baby . . . or anything." The real reason he was nervous, of course, was because he didn't want to look at Teddy and be reminded of either of his parents; the pain was still too fresh.

Mrs. Weasley smiled at him. "Oh, you'll do just fine, Harry," she reassured him.

"Did you know my parents?" he asked suddenly, looking up at the Weasleys. "Either of you . . . did you know them well?"

"No," replied Mrs. Weasley quietly. "My brothers did, though. . . . When we talked, they never had anything but praise for James and Lily."

"So you weren't in the first Order of the Phoenix, then."

Mr. Weasley shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not. At the time, it seemed the safe thing to do, with a new wife and a new son . . . keep my nose down and not take a side. And then before we knew it we had seven children and putting food on the table and clothes on their backs was enough of a challenge. We realized, far too late, when You-Know-Who attacked your parents trying to get to you, that if he had no qualms about murdering James and Lily's child, then he could have no qualms about murdering anyone else's child." He was quiet a moment and sipped his tea. "Or having someone else do it for him."

Harry stared into his cup, not wanting to look up and see the pain in the Weasleys' eyes as they looked at each other and moved their hands to touch. After a moment or two he raised his head. "It's just . . . I've wondered about the oddest things in the last few days, you know? I mean . . . I understand why Dumbledore sent me to live with my mother's sister, but why didn't anyone try to see me – even clandestinely? And there isn't anyone left who I can ask those questions."

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley exchanged a glance before she spoke. "Of those closest to your parents, Harry, remember that Peter Pettigrew was thought dead, Sirius was in Azkaban for it, and Remus. . . . Well, he didn't even want to see his own son, at first. And I suspect that part of the reason he couldn't bear to see you is the same reason that you're apprehensive about seeing Teddy today."

Harry looked up at Mrs. Weasley and studied her for a moment, then looked back at his teacup. "I'm sorry," he said. "I really don't mean to complain." _Not when you're burying your son today_, he thought, but did not say. "My head's kind of a mess."

Mr. Weasley patted his arm. "It's all right, Harry. Everyone's is."

"You've been so kind to me," he said, a sudden rush of emotion taking over him. He looked up at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, his eyes brimming with tears he did not want to shed. "Your whole family has always been so kind."

Mrs. Weasley rose to walk around the table and kiss his cheek. "We have always been happy to have you in our home, Harry. Now – how about some breakfast?"

With a slight smile, he looked up at her. "That would be great, Mrs. Weasley. Thanks."

She squeezed his shoulders and kissed the top of his head, and then walked into the kitchen. Mr. Weasley studied Harry when he turned back to his mug of tea, but the younger man said nothing more. He swirled the tea around a little, and then put the mug to his lips, taking a long sip. As he set the cup back down on the table, his eyes blinked slowly and he felt a heaviness in his limbs. Mr. Weasley smiled when Harry turned to throw an accusatory look at him.

"You need some sleep, Harry," he said. "It'll help with that messy head of yours."

The most Harry could manage through a ferocious yawn was, "You're tricky."

Mrs. Weasley smiled as she watched her husband help Harry up from his chair and up the stairs. "It's a very _good_ sleeping draught, Harry," she called. "It won't make you groggy at all."

And somehow, even though he'd been tricked into taking it, Harry was reassured and laid his head down to rest on the cot in Ron's room.

* * *

><p>Harry slept for a few hours and then was woken in time to get ready for Fred's funeral. When he came down the stairs dressed in black robes, he found George standing in the kitchen, reading over some parchment. George had, for the most part, been sitting quietly alone in his room since they had all returned to the Burrow. There were lines in his forehead and dark circles under his eyes; Harry thought that if his mother had tried to slip him the sleeping draught, either he hadn't fallen for it or it simply hadn't worked.<p>

"Hi George," he said quietly.

George looked up at him. "Hi, Harry," he replied, his voice surprisingly upbeat. "You're looking – well, a wreck, like the rest of us. Nicely done."

Harry smirked. "Thanks. Is that. . . ?"

"Freddy's eulogy," confirmed George, turning his eyes back onto it. "The minister will give him a proper, stuffy one, of course. . . . But as you know, Fred was neither proper nor stuffy and I don't want him to be remembered that way." George paused to scribble on the parchment and then lifted his eyes to Harry's. "I'm going to ask people to speak about him. I don't want him to be thought of as some tragic, battle-scarred soldier – that's not who he is." Darkness passed across his face, and Harry saw the involuntary tears well in his eyes. "Was."

Harry nodded, pausing a moment as George returned to his parchment. "Does your mum know about this?" he asked.

"No," replied George. "And she doesn't know about the fireworks, either."

Harry smirked. "I won't mention it, then," he said, and proceeded toward the sitting room to wait for the rest of the family.

Percy, who had been all but silent since the final battle, sat in an easy chair, staring at nothing. Harry greeted him; Percy didn't answer, only fidgeted with his robes. Ron joined them soon, drawing Harry's attention from Percy.

"What on Earth are you wearing?"

Ron stood taller, a smirk on his lips. "My formal robes, Harry."

"But I thought Fred and George bought you new ones," Harry replied. He wanted to laugh, but held it in.

"Fred said he liked these better on me," said Ron.

A tear formed in Harry's eye, but he smiled despite it. "You look ridiculous."

Ron smiled too. "I think that's why Fred liked them."

When Hermione came down she immediately went to Ron and reclaimed the hand it seemed she had been holding for days, until she noticed Ron's attire. At first, she said nothing, only raising her eyebrow and carefully examining Ron's expression.

"Is that what you're wearing?"

Harry snickered while Ron replied, "Yes."

His other siblings had similar reactions - except George, who had known of Ron's attire beforehand. When Mr. Weasley came down to inform his family that his wife was almost ready, so everyone else had better be, he only stared at his youngest son, and then immediately retreated up the stairs.

"She's going to make you change, Ronald," warned Hermione.

"No she won't," replied Ron with confidence.

Mrs. Weasley was upon him sooner than he expected. "Ronald Weasley! This is no time for antics! You look _ridiculous_! Now go and change and do it quickly!"

But Ron surprised all of his family when he simply shook his head. "Sorry, Mum. I'd like to wear these."

Mrs. Weasley was stunned by his refusal, and sputtered a little. "Do you have any idea what you look like in those?"

Her son smiled at her. "Yeah, I do. I've red hair and hand-me-down robes. I _look_ like a Weasley." He approached his mother and kissed her forehead. "And I've never been prouder to be one."

Mrs. Weasley's face dissolved into tears, and she patted his face and calmed down. "Of course," she said softly. "Of course, Ron - I . . . of course." Then she looked to her husband, who took her hand, and addressed all of her children. "Is everyone ready?"

"Sure, Mum," replied Charlie, who was at her side. She smiled sadly, and led the way.

* * *

><p>The front row of seats at Fred's funeral, in the cemetery at Ottery St. Catchpole, were reserved for his family; both Harry and Hermione found themselves seated there. They were a big jumble, rather than sitting in any kind of order. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were roughly in the middle, with mostly redheads seated on either side.<p>

Ginny sat to the right of her mother, and Harry sat next to Ginny. Mother and daughter held hands at first, but when the ceremony began, Mrs. Weasley leaned in closer to her husband. Ginny let go of her mother's hand, realizing she could not provide the kind of support she needed at that moment. To help make up for it, Harry reached over and took her right hand, gently, not sure if she wanted a replacement or not. Ginny looked up at him gratefully, squeezing his hand as her eyes filled.

They cried together over the sad and sweet things that were said as well as laughing together as friends and family recalled Fred's brilliance and the antics he got up to with George. The fireworks had not been completely unexpected – even Mrs. Weasley had smiled through her tears as she watched them.

The funeral had proved too much for her, however, and after Fred's casket was placed in the ground, her husband had brought her straight home and tucked her into bed, where he stayed to comfort her. Her children, which included Harry and Hermione, sat around the scrubbed oak table at the Burrow, relatively quiet and nursing butterbeers and a bottle of firewhiskey.

Bill noted his younger brother Percy fidgeting, which was unlike Percy. He was ordinarily very calm and collected and very sure of himself – he and Hermione were a lot alike in that way. Bill laid a hand on his brother's shoulder and cut to the chase.

"Out with it, Perce," he demanded. "What's eating you up?"

Furtively, Percy looked at his brother. He started several times, and stopped, but then, in a rush, he said, "I think about that moment all the time." His voice was a crackled whisper and his brow was worried together. "When I saw – Fred. . . . I wish I could get it out of my head."

Ron looked up at Percy. "He probably didn't even know what hit him," he said gently. "But think of it this way, Perce – he died with a smile on his face. And, for once, he was laughing _with_ you, not _at_ you."

Percy smirked a little and the table fell silent for a while.

"I wonder what you _would_ think of," said George quietly. "If you knew what was happening and you just had a moment, a split second – what would you think of?"

"Probably something random," guessed Hermione. "There were times in the last year when I thought of the oddest things in times of panic. Like when we were Apparating between Grimmauld Place and the forest, that first time. . . . I thought of how disappointed Kreacher would be when we didn't come home for kidney pie."

Ron smiled and pulled her close to kiss her head. She smiled at him.

"What did you think of, Harry?" asked Charlie. "In the forest. Did you have a moment?"

Harry smiled a little, toying with his bottle of butterbeer. "I think," he said slowly, "in times like those, when you're panicked, or think you're about to die. . . . You probably think of the most honest reason you don't want to go. Hermione thought of someone else's feelings, even though Kreacher didn't treat her properly – which is very Hermione." He smiled a little and sipped.

Despite Harry's avoidance, Charlie pressed on. "And in your split-second, you thought of Ron and Hermione?" he guessed.

"He had more than a second, though," said George. "He walked all the way out to the forest – plenty of time to think of all kinds of random things."

Harry nodded. "Actually. . . . The time it took to get to the forest, I was just thinking about getting one foot in front of the other. I didn't want to go." He took a swallow of butterbeer, and then fixed his eyes on the bottle again. "I actually thought, for a while, with the dementors out there – that might be an okay way to go, compared to letting Voldemort have what he wanted."

Her brow worried, Hermione reached out and squeezed his hand. He didn't look at her, but squeezed back.

"When I got . . . there, where Voldemort was. . . . He was so quick, I really only did have a split second." Harry swallowed the rest of his butterbeer and raised his head to meet Charlie's eyes. "I thought of Ginny."

From the corner of his eye, Harry could see Hermione turn her head to look at Ginny, who was across the table from her. He knew, from the intensity of her gaze, that Ginny had turned to look at him, but he dared not do the same.

"Huh," replied the uninformed Charlie. "That _is_ random."

Harry smiled and rose from the table. "No, it's not," he replied, and left the kitchen.

* * *

><p>Thanks again for reading! Hope you continue to enjoy!<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for all of your reviews! I hope this continues to be enjoyable. I just have one quick note - I'm not English so if my English vernacular is off, I'd love it if someone would be kind enough to tell me nicely. Thanks!

* * *

><p>He had known Ginny would follow him out into the orchard, and as he walked he listened for her soft footfalls in the grass. He held his hand out behind him; when she caught up, she took it, and he held tight. They meandered the orchard silently together for a while, until Ginny let go of Harry's hand and sat down, her back against an apple tree. He sat next to her, bringing his knees up to his chest.<p>

The orchard was quiet and Harry was content enough, for a few moments, to soak in the sound of the wind rustling the blossoms and bees hunting for pollen. When Ginny finally spoke, her voice was softer than he'd ever heard it.

"You really thought you were going to die in the forest."

He turned to look at her. She was staring at the trunk of the tree on the opposite side of the path on which they'd stopped. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. "I _knew_ I was going to die," he replied. "I really didn't want to… But I knew I had to. I passed you, under my cloak, on my way out to the forest." He tilted his head to rest it against the tree trunk. Then he chuckled.

"How is _that_ funny?" asked Ginny as she swiveled her head to look at him, her tone sharp.

He met her eyes. "It's not," he replied. "But you know what Hermione said about thinking about random things in times of panic? I just remembered. . . . After I'd passed you, I was thinking that your mum was going to kill me when she found out I'd let you out of the Room of Requirement."

Ginny laughed a little through her tears. Harry wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, and her arms snaked around his waist. She rested her head against his chest where her laughter soon turned into tears, and he continued to hold her as she began to sob.

"He's gone, Harry," she wailed against his chest. "Oh God, he's really gone!"

Tears on his own cheeks, he rubbed her back as she cried and clung to his shirt. "I'm so sorry, Ginny," he whispered, sniffling. "I'm so sorry."

Eventually Ginny's sobs subsided, but she didn't move. Harry stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back a little more, and Ginny scooted closer to him.

"You thought of me."

In his mind, Harry went back to that moment. He remembered being oddly calm, but he supposed that was due to the lingering effect of the ghostly presence of his parents, Sirius, and Lupin. He remembered the silence, the way Voldemort had tilted his head, and the glee with which he'd cast his curse. But more vividly Harry recalled being hit with thoughts of Ginny, the way she looked at him and the way she kissed him.

He swallowed. "Yes." He lifted his hand to feather her hair back from her face. "I watched your dot on the map. . . . I thought of you every day. You don't know how hard it was for me to walk past you to get to the forest."

"Why didn't you say something?" she whispered.

"Because I knew you'd try to stop me."

Harry took her silence as acceptance of that fact – they both knew it to be true. After a few minutes, he became conscious of Ginny's left hand on his chest, drawing slow and gentle circles. His eyes closed and he allowed himself to enjoy the sensation for a while, his thoughts melting into nothing more than Ginny's fingers and apple blossoms and buzzing bees, and before long he and Ginny slipped into a peaceful sleep.

* * *

><p>A little more than an hour later he was woken by a heavy but gentle hand on his shoulder.<p>

"Harry."

He opened his eyes to find Bill Weasley crouched down, watching him with a grin. Fleur was standing not far away.

"Hello," he said, feeling slightly awkward and hoping his hands hadn't meandered to inappropriate places in his sleep.

"I'm glad to see you two getting some rest," said Bill. "Fleur said Ginny wasn't sleeping last night and I know you haven't got more than a few hours."

Harry's brow furrowed. "Ginny's not sleeping well?" he asked, looking up at Fleur.

Fleur shook her head. "Molly says she hasn't slept a full night since she was taken out of school at Easter. It's no surprise. . . . Everyone she loved was in danger."

Harry nodded and squeezed Ginny. "I suppose it's time for the other funeral," he said.

Bill nodded, and then stood from his crouching position. "Do you know where to go?" he asked. Harry replied that he did. "I'll let you two get there in your own time. Just a few more minutes and we'll be going with Mum and Dad."

"I'll see you there," said Harry quietly. Bill and Fleur walked hand in hand back to the house.

* * *

><p>During the service Harry could hear a baby's cry and knew it was Teddy, but he stubbornly kept his eyes on the minister. In the gathering afterward, on the lawn at Andromeda's house, he followed Ginny and collected a plate of food but didn't eat it. When the mourners were dwindling, Andromeda tapped him on the shoulder.<p>

"Hello, Harry," she said warmly. "I thought you might like to say hello to Teddy." It was really more of a command than an invitation, but although she understood why Harry was avoiding her grandson, it was about time for Teddy to be in bed.

"Yeah, okay," he said, his voice belying the nervous rumble in his empty stomach. He grabbed Ginny's hand as he stood up, but when he started to follow Andromeda, Ginny resisted. He turned to face her and found that she had not risen from her seat.

"I can't go in there, Harry," she whispered.

"Why not?"

"Because . . . I can't. . . . Haven't you seen the pictures? He looks just like her, Harry. He looks _just_ like Tonks."

Harry paused to consider this. A fast and steady affection had developed between Ginny and Tonks, since they met during his fifth year at Hogwarts. She didn't want to look at Teddy and see her dead friend any more than he wanted to look at the same baby and see his own dead friend. He sat back down and squeezed her hand. "I don't really want to go in there, either."

Ginny looked over Harry's head at Andromeda, who was waiting by the door patiently. "She's waiting for you, Harry."

"I'm waiting for you," he replied.

"Harry, I already said-"

"I can't do it alone, Ginny. Please."

Ginny let out a sigh and looked away a moment. Her eyes wandered the lawn, which was a lush springtime green, and then found his pleading eyes. Reluctantly, she rose and followed him.

Andromeda held Teddy close when Harry and Ginny finally joined her in her sitting room. "I know this won't be easy for you," she began. "He does look just like Dora. . . . But he's the sweetest baby. Really nothing like my daughter – she was a terror, even at this age."

Ginny laughed a little, and Harry smiled for a moment before sobering, looking over Andromeda and her grandson. "It must be really difficult for you," he said softly.

She looked up at him. "Actually," she replied, "Teddy has been an unexpected comfort. I hoped he could be that for you, as well."

Harry shook his head a little. "I don't know, Mrs. Tonks. . . ."

"Harry, please," she said, the hint of a reprimand in her voice. "You're godfather to my grandson. Call me Andromeda." He blushed a little, and nodded, and then she continued. "Now. How about a little snuggle before I tuck him in?"

And before Harry knew it, Teddy was in his arms. The baby squirmed a little, making himself comfortable, and Ginny steered Harry toward a rocking chair, and once he was seated, he became a bit more comfortable holding the little bundle and simply gazed at the baby's face. He really did look just like Tonks, except that he had Lupin's long, thin face. His tuft of hair, which Harry remembered as turquoise from the photo that Lupin had shown him, had darkened to black.

He looked up at Andromeda. "Is that his natural hair color?"

She smiled a little. "Yes, I think so. It was black when he was born, and it tends to turn black when he's tired." She watched him a moment, smiling. "Not so bad, is it?"

Harry's eyes were fixed on Teddy's face again. "No, it's all right." Then he lifted his head again to search Ginny's face, and noticed that she was still standing a fair distance away. He said her name and made her meet his eyes.

"Come on, Gin," he said. "Come see."

Harry didn't know it, but it was the soft tone of his voice and the way he pronounced her shortened name that drew her to him. With gentle steps she approached him and peered into the blankets to see the gurgling baby. Tears glistened in her eyes.

The doorbell rang, and Andromeda excused herself for a moment. Harry and Ginny were silent a while, looking down at Teddy.

As they gazed down at the little bundle in Harry's arms, each of them saw different things. Ginny, having loved Tonks dearly, saw only her. And while it made her feel a stab of pain at the loss of her friend, Teddy's tired gurgle and waving fist, and the brief flash of ginger in his black hair made her giggle, and her heart filled up with love for the little boy.

Harry, however, saw and felt something very different: He saw himself – an orphaned infant – and felt more of the crushing sadness that had settled on his shoulders when he had seen Tonks and Lupin's bodies lying together in eternal rest in the Great Hall. Tears fell onto the baby's blanket, and Harry sniffled.

"It's okay to cry, Harry," whispered Ginny, her arm squeezing his shoulders. "It's okay to be sad."

"That's good," he replied. "Because I am."

Ginny knew he would not have said it out loud if there were anyone else in the room and was grateful for whoever had knocked on Andromeda's door. Harry was silent a moment longer, and then, just loud enough for her to hear, he whispered, "Nobody should have to grow up without their parents." And then he drew Teddy close, and buried his face among the fluffy, sweet-smelling blankets, and sobbed. Ginny rubbed his back and kissed the top of his head, tears streaming down her cheeks as well.

By the time Harry calmed down, Teddy had fallen asleep. Harry leaned further into the chair he was sitting on and started rocking him. Andromeda had finished with her visitor but was tinkering in the kitchen, with what Harry and Ginny knew not. Harry had returned to gazing at and rocking Teddy, and Ginny sat on the floor in front of Harry.

"Just like his godfather," he said. "Dead parents . . . lots of messy black hair."

Ginny smirked and touched Harry's knee. "Yes, but look at him, Harry. He's so content." Teddy sighed then, and it made Harry finally smile.

Cradling Teddy's head in his hands, he leaned forward, fixing an earnest expression on his face, and spoke to his godson. "Now you listen to me, Teddy," he whispered. "It's not fair, you not getting to know your parents. They were brilliant." A few tears glistened in his eyes, but he continued. "There isn't anything I can do about that. What I _can_ do is promise that you know them through me." Teddy didn't respond, content in repose as he was. "You _won't_ grow up like I did. I promise." Then he drew Teddy close again to kiss his tiny forehead.

Andromeda padded into the room then, smiling at Ginny. "Kept Teddy all to himself, did he?" she asked.

Ginny smiled and met Harry's eyes. "It's okay. I think Harry needed the time."

"You are welcome any time you like," she said sincerely. Harry smiled up at her, and she noticed that Teddy was asleep. "Ah, out like a light . . . I'll go put him to bed."

Harry handed her the little bundle with only a little reluctance, and she disappeared up the stairs. Ginny met his eyes when she was gone.

"You'll be a brilliant godfather, Harry."

He blushed a little. "Thanks." Then his brow contracted, and he tilted his head. "Ginny . . . d'you think I should . . . I mean, being his godfather, doesn't that mean that I have . . . ."

Ginny's big brown eyes smiled. "You don't think they left him to _you_, do you?"

"Well, I don't know," he replied, a little defensive. "I could have gone to live with Sirius; he was my godfather."

"No, you couldn't have. I mean, you could – but your mother's magic would have been broken. Isn't that what you said?"

"Yeah," he confirmed. "But I didn't know about it then. I don't think Sirius did either."

Ginny considered it a moment. "Well, I think this is a little different though, don't you? I mean, you're not even eighteen. And I'm not sure that Tonks and Remus really had much time to discuss all that – much less make it legal."

"Legal doesn't mean much right now," said Harry. "There's no ministry to speak of. Before that – well, Remus was a werewolf . . . I wonder if Teddy's birth has even been recorded."

But Ginny didn't seem to be paying attention to his musings. Her knees were drawn up to her chin and she was staring at a random point on the rug.

"Ginny?"

"Hm?" She looked up at him, and he could see the fatigue in her eyes.

"D'you want to go home?"

She nodded; he stood and held out a hand for her. She took it and rose, and was holding tight to it when Andromeda joined them again.

"Any time, Harry," she said warmly, and now Harry could see how tired she was as well.

"Mrs.- Andromeda," he began, a little uneasily, "er . . . since I'm Teddy's godfather . . . I mean, do I have to – what are my – er – responsibilities?"

Andromeda smiled at him. "You just need to be there for him," she replied. "I know that sounds like nothing, right now – all he really needs is someone to love and nurture him. But when he's older, he'll want someone who isn't me, someone who knows him well, to turn to."

Harry smiled at Andromeda. "I can do that," he replied. He and Ginny said their good-byes and joined her family again at the Burrow.


	4. Chapter 4

The following day, which was Wednesday, Kingsley Shacklebolt visited the Burrow. He had tea with the assembled Weasleys – none could bear to leave yet – and then had a surprising request of Harry.

"According to his wishes, Severus Snape was buried by the Order this morning, not far from where he lived in Spinner's End. On Saturday, as you may know, there will be a memorial service at Hogwarts before classes resume on Monday. I think it would be fitting if you would say a few words in Snape's honor."

For a moment Harry was dumbfounded, still getting used to the idea that Snape truly had turned from Voldemort; that he was not a Death Eater, that he had been – along with being part and parcel of making Harry's life more miserable than necessary at times – actually protecting Harry. From Voldemort, anyway. "What . . . what on earth would I say?"

Shacklebolt tilted his head, considering the question. "I should think it would be simple, Harry – say whatever is in your heart."

"I'm confused as hell." Harry raised an eyebrow at Kingsley as he sipped tea and kept his left leg linked with Ginny's right leg under the table.

"There are a lot of people who are," replied Shacklebolt. "It would be reassuring – healing, even – to know that you share their confusion and pain."

Despite his mind screaming at him to say no, that he didn't want to speak at all, he did feel obligated. He was fully aware that the contents of the statement that he, Hermione, and Ron had delivered to the Wizengamot a few days ago had not yet been made public; that the reporter from the Daily Prophet that had been allowed to witness the session was going to print what she had learned in the Sunday edition. Once the article was published there would likely be no peace for him and it would be worse if he made no attempt to say anything personal at all.

But more than that, the fact of the matter was that Snape had saved his life. Not for Harry's own sake – it had all been for Lily – but regardless of his motivation, Snape was a hero and while it was apparent that he didn't want attention lavished upon himself, Harry thought he deserved – and Harry owed him – something.

"I can write something for you, Harry," said Hermione softly from his right. "Really, I'd be happy to."

He smiled a little at her. "Thanks, Hermione, but really – I don't think it would be appropriate. He hated me and I hated him."

His friend looked a tad stricken, and Mrs. Weasley gasped his name. "It's true," he stressed, looking down the table to where the matriarch sat. "His death doesn't change how he felt about me at all."

"Harry, to be fair," said Ginny, "you didn't really know how he felt about you. You only know what he said and did publicly. He could have liked you, especially considering everything you managed to accomplish."

"I think that's reaching a bit, Gin," he replied. "I still look – and as far as he was concerned, acted like – a man he hated. For good reason. I _do_ know how he felt about me and it wasn't flattering."

"But how do you feel about him now – now that you know what he did?"

"I don't know," he replied to Mr. Weasley, who had asked the question. He sighed and leaned on the table with his elbows. "Do you have to know right now whether I want to speak?" he asked of Shacklebolt.

The Minister shook his head. "No, not right now. But soon, Harry – tomorrow. If you choose not to speak, we'll have to ask someone else."

Harry nodded in understanding, and Shacklebolt fell into conversation with the others as Harry sipped his tea and pondered what he should do.

* * *

><p>He was still in turmoil over the situation – torn between the obligation he felt and the fact that he knew that if Snape were asked, Harry Potter would be the last person he'd want to speak about him – that evening, when he and Ron had finished with the dinner dishes they'd been tasked with and sat playing chess.<p>

"So what are you going to do?" asked Ron, once he had taken his turn. "You know, about the whole Snape thing."

Harry studied the board. "I dunno," he replied with a sigh. "What do you think?"

Ron shrugged. "If it were me, I wouldn't do it. But it wasn't my mum he loved. Wasn't me he protected."

"It's not that I'm not grateful," said Harry, his eyes still on the chess pieces. "It's just . . . he really was a complete and total git and I really did hate him." He fell silent for a moment, halfheartedly trying to decide what his move in the game should be.

Once Harry moved a piece and sat back, Ron shook his head and met his friend's eyes. "You're not even trying."

Harry smiled a little. "Neither are you," he replied.

"That's true." Ron moved one of his pieces. "Check."

"I've been in check for about three turns now."

"Yeah, but now I'm getting tired."

"Sporting of you."

"I know."

Harry reached out and moved a completely random rook, which cursed at him before it was smashed to bits by Ron's knight. Once Harry's king was in pieces on the board, he looked up at Ron.

"Good game."

Ron shook his head. "Not really." He leaned back in his chair, and after looking around for his mother, put his feet up on the table. "Hermione offered to write it for you – like old times, really. Maybe it won't be so bad."

Harry swallowed and leaned back, considering. "But then it wouldn't be my words."

"Well, if it's that important to you . . . maybe you _should_ speak. I mean, it doesn't have to be poetic or anything. Lots of the things people said about Fred were hardly understandable, and people actually liked him."

"What would you say?" asked Harry, leaning forward.

Ron shrugged. "Snape was a bastard, but he did something good?"

"I'll take it under consideration," said Harry with a smirk.

Ron pulled his wand out of his back pocket to repair the chess pieces, and set to putting them away. "Doesn't have to be brilliant or moving or anything, you know? Just has to be honest." When he was finished, he put his wand back into his pocket and put his feet back on the table. "You're the best man for that job, Harry. Kingsley can get anyone to speak, but who else is going to stand up there and not paint a picture like Snape was some knight in shining armor?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah . . . I guess you're right." He looked around the room, trying to avoid lingering on Ginny. "Get me some parchment? I need to write to Kingsley."

Ron harrumphed. "After that pathetic display?" he asked, pointing at his chess set. "Get your own." And he rose to sit next to Hermione, who was reading on the couch. Harry smiled at his friends, and took a moment to rest his head on his arms, closing his eyes.

* * *

><p>What felt like just a few minutes later, Ginny was shaking his arm.<p>

"Harry. _Harry_," she whispered, almost urgently.

"What?" He sat up, fixing his glasses, alarmed and bleary-eyed.

"Mum and Dad have gone to bed," she whispered. "Come on."

Harry yawned and stretched, and then rose from the table. "All right." He started for the staircase, but Ginny headed for the back door. When he was a few steps up, her heard his name again.

"Harry!"

He turned, rubbing his eyes. "What?"

"Where are you going?" She was scowling at the bottom of the stairs.

Having thought it was obvious, he pointed up the stairs with his thumb. "Bed?"

She shook her head in annoyance. "No. Come with me."

"Where are you going?" he asked; her back was already turned.

"Just come on!"

Harry followed her, knowing there was no other choice. Ginny led him outside, where he was surprised to find it dark. "How long did I sleep on the table?"

"Long enough," she replied, and then they were next to the broom shed. She turned to him suddenly, and put her had on his forearm. "Fly with me," she said, and her chocolate eyes sparkled for the first time in what Harry guessed was a long time.

"It's dark," he protested, still slightly sleep-hazed.

Ginny wrenched open the shed door, dismissing his concern. "It's a clear night and the moon is bright. We'll be able to see." She turned back to him and thrust a Cleansweep into his hand. "When's the last time you flew for fun?"

Her eyes were still bright, despite his protests, and he noted in the admittedly ample moonlight that her cheeks looked a bit flushed. And then he remembered that he knew how to make her cheeks flush like that without a broom, without thoughts of flying or Quidditch, without the thrill of sneaking out of the house to do something she knew her mother wouldn't approve of. And before he knew what he was doing, one hand was on her cheek and the other in her hair, and he was kissing her, and it was his birthday all over again, in her sunny bedroom, and – thank Merlin – she was kissing him back, her arms winding around his waist.

He slowed down and released her lips so they both could breathe, but kept his right hand in her hair and moved his left to her hip, keeping her pulled close.

"You had no right to do that," she whispered, her eyes still closed, her forehead pressed to his.

"I know," replied Harry. "Are you angry?"

Ginny pulled her head back; he moved his hand out of her hair, smoothing it before he put it on her other hip. Their eyes met and he was beyond pleased to see that hers were still sparkling. "No, Harry." She lifted her hand to his face, and stroked his cheek. "Can I take this to mean that you didn't run across any Veela during your exile?"

He grinned. "Yes," he replied quietly, loving the feel of her hand on his cheek. "But even if there were . . . there's no one in the world like you, Veela or not."

She smiled fully, and leaned in to kiss him, and when she broke away her eyes were still glinting. "Let's fly," she said.

And they flew.

* * *

><p>Saturday came far too quickly for Harry. In the morning he and Ginny walked the orchard together, as had become a habit in the last few days, and they. When he was dressed for the memorial and waiting with Ron downstairs, Hermione and Ginny joined them.<p>

"Where is your speech?" asked Hermione, her tone brisk and bossy, clearly rattled on his behalf.

"I didn't write it down," he replied.

Her brow furrowed and her mouth opened. "Harry, this is important! How could you _not_ have written it down?"

She sounded so much like a prefect scolding an underclassman for not completing his homework that Harry and Ron both smiled. "Don't worry about it, Hermione. I know what I'm going to say. I don't want it to sound too prepared."

Still flabbergasted, she dug in her robe pocket. "I wish I could say I'm surprised, but I can't." She looked up and held out a set of note cards to Harry.

Ginny smiled at her. "You did his homework for him again?"

Hermione looked over at Ginny. "_Someone_ has to do it," she replied.

Harry took the cards she proffered and scanned them. "There's a few things I can work in," he said. "Thanks, Hermione."

She shook her head and sighed. "Honestly, Harry."

Percy chose that moment to bustle into the room, crisp and put-together in his formal robes. "Hello," he said in greeting. "Harry, have you got your speech ready? I could look it over, if you need some input."

Harry, Ron, and Ginny all looked at Percy, and then to Hermione, who was beet red. "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer a different Weasley?" asked Harry, trying to be amused.

Hermione mumbled something that sounded like "prat" and turned away; Ron put his arms around her and tried to make her smile.

"Did I say something wrong?" asked Percy.

"Harry's just teasing Hermione, Perce," Ginny said, to reassure him.

Percy's eyebrows rose to the middle of his forehead, and he nodded in understanding. "I see. Well. Your speech, Harry?"

"All set, thanks," he said. Mercifully, Percy didn't press the issue.

Since Ginny was the only Weasley without an Apparition license, she and Harry took the Floo to Hogsmeade once everyone else had Apparated. Then they all walked to Hogwarts, grouping together with other families that had come the same way.

The service took place outside on the great lawn, in the same spot where Dumbledore's funeral had been held. Harry was starting to get nervous, not only in anticipation of public speaking, but because he knew that unless he kept his wits about him he wouldn't be able to form a coherent sentence. It was bound to be emotional – so much had been lost. Instead of focusing on the service, which he felt guilty about, he looked over Hermione's speech. It was good, if stuffy. _Too detailed though_, he thought.

He didn't hear Kingsley introduce him and invite him to speak; he only knew it was time for him to get up when Ginny kicked him. Somewhat awkwardly and very self-consciously, he rose and walked to the podium, which was placed in front of what he realized, just at that moment, was a massive crowd of witches and wizards.

"Thank you, Minister," he said, his voice crackling a little. He cleared his throat as he positioned himself, fidgeting with the notecards, and began. "To say the very least, Severus Snape was a complicated man. From the time I met him as an eleven year old, first-year potions student, I disliked him – distrusted him, even. He was a very guarded, private man, and I think it would be easy to say that he was that way because of the burden he chose to put upon himself, but it was also in his nature to be guarded and private.

"On occasions like this I believe it's customary to review the life of the person who you are honoring . . . That's going to be difficult, because no one here knew him well at all. I think the list of things we don't know about Professor Snape would be much longer than the list of things we did. But, if we begin at the beginning. . . ." Harry paused here, glancing down at the cards Hermione had pressed into his hand. He tucked them into the pocket of his robes, and continued. "Severus Tobias Snape was born on January 9, 1960 in Spinner's End, in Cokeworth. His mother, Eileen Prince, was a witch; his father, Tobias Snape, was a Muggle. He was an only child, and I imagine he was an introverted one. When he was ten years old, he met a pair of sisters – Lily and Petunia Evans. Lily was showing her sister how she could make flower petals move in her hand – what we would recognize as accidental magic. When he approached and informed her that she was a witch, Lily, being a Muggle, thought he had insulted her. But she was kind, and she listened to this strange boy, who could also do amazing things, and for Lily, a friendship was formed. Severus Snape, however, had fallen in love – not a fleeting, adolescent kind of love, but a deep and abiding love, the kind that many people search for their entire lives and never find.

"Despite Lily not returning – or, if I'm not mistaken, being fully aware of the depth of – Severus' love, they became very close. They went to Hogwarts together when they turned eleven, and Snape was sorted into Slytherin House. As quickly as he had made friends with Lily, he made enemies with Lily's future husband, James Potter, who bullied him. But for the first time, he also had friends there, and in Hogwarts he found a home.

"Snape was a very talented wizard, as he proved in his classes, but particularly, he excelled at Potions. Even as a student he was able to innovate potion-making methods, to improve upon the efficiency of brewing and the efficacy of the results. He was, in a word, brilliant.

"Unfortunately, he was also fascinated with the Dark Arts, and the friends he made while at Hogwarts were as well. When he left Hogwarts, he joined the ranks of the Death Eaters. He was a loyal follower of Lord Voldemort.

"Until he overheard a prophecy told about a boy being born with the power to defeat the Dark Lord. He went to his master with this information, and when all was said and done, the Dark Lord decided that the son of James and Lily Potter was the child of whom the prophecy spoke. Voldemort made it known that he intended to kill the child and his parents, and so Professor Snape secretly turned from the Dark Lord, allied himself with Albus Dumbledore, in order to keep Lily alive.

"But we all know what follows in this story – James and Lily were murdered, Voldemort was defeated, and the boy lived. For a while there was peace in the Wizarding world. But Snape continued to put his own life in peril in order to protect the boy – to protect _me_ – and put an end to the man who killed Lily, the one thing in the world he loved and cherished.

"Professor Snape and I didn't get along at all. I think, when he looked at me, he could only see James Potter, the boy who, along with his friend Sirius, bullied him, and to be honest I think he took pleasure in tormenting the same boy he was protecting. And all I could see was a bitter, angry man, and I chose to believe that because he was angry and unkind that he was still a Death Eater, not worth understanding. Despite the assurances of many other people whom I trusted, I, like him, saw only what I wanted to see.

"I can't say what might have happened, had we been kinder, or more open, or less judgmental of each other. I don't know if it's worth dwelling on. And to be perfectly honest, over the last few days I have been wondering if Severus Snape was an essentially good man who made bad choices, or an essentially bad man whose love changed him. I don't know the answer to that question – I don't know if it needs to be answered. No one could argue that he was kind, but that didn't mean that he didn't know what love and loyalty were.

"What I do know is this: That Hogwarts will not likely know a more brilliant Potions Master, nor the world a braver man, than Severus Snape."

Harry stepped away from the podium then, and Shacklebolt thanked him, and he walked back to his seat with his eyes fixed on the grass. Hermione put her hand on his arm and squeezed, but he shifted his eyes to Shacklebolt and drew from the older man's stoicism. He would not cry – not publicly, anyway – over Severus Snape.

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><p>Hope you enjoyed - thanks for the adds and the reviews!<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks again for all the reviews and adds - they make an author's day! Hope you continue to enjoy!_

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><p>When the memorial service was over, Harry and Ginny meandered Hogwarts' halls, admiring the repair work that had been done so far. The Great Hall was almost fully restored, which made Harry smile. His first and fondest memories of Hogwarts were of this room and the magic that he witnessed for the first time.<p>

Ron and Hermione joined them then, holding hands and looking a little too smiley for the occasion.

"Harry," said Hermione, "we uh . . . we wanted to talk to you."

He looked between Ron and Hermione, and then looked at Ginny, who shrugged. "Okay."

"You know I have to go to Australia. For my parents," began Hermione, an uneasy hitch to her voice.

Harry waited for her to go on, but she didn't. "And?"

She rushed to continue. "Well, I was talking with Kingsley about it, and he said that memory charms can be really tricky to reverse, especially without the wand that placed them – and I haven't got my wand back yet."

"Right."

"So he contacted someone at the Australian Ministry who's going to help me once I get there."

Harry's eyebrows rose. This was good news. "Brilliant. So when-"

"Ron's coming with me."

Harry was a little startled by her interruption, but pressed on. "Of course he is, but when-"

"_Just_ Ron." Her face was apologetic.

"Oh." Harry looked at Ron, who would not look at him and whose ears were close to purple. Harry's stomach turned to lead. "You don't want me to come?" he asked, turning back toward Hermione. "I mean . . . you hid them so you could come with me, so you could help me – why don't you want me to help bring them back?"

"It's not that, Harry," replied Hermione uncomfortably. "It's just. . . ." She looked, for once, as though she didn't know what to say.

"Ron, let's give them a moment, yeah?" said Ginny, and when Harry turned to look at her he had the distinct impression that she knew exactly what was going through Hermione's head. He tried to catch her eyes as she turned with her brother to walk away, but she wouldn't look back.

He turned to Hermione again when he felt her hand on his arm. "It wasn't his idea; it was mine."

"Going by yourselves?"

She nodded, and neither of them spoke for a moment. "Listen, Harry . . . Ron and I . . . this relationship is so new – the romantic dynamic, that is – and I know that we know a lot about each other – we've been nearly inseparable for seven years. But we haven't been alone much – I mean, not that you've been in the way, or anything – and I think, if we're going to make a relationship like this work, that we need to spend some time together, in a more intimate way, do you know what I mean?" Her worried face studied his a moment, and then she said nervously, "Harry . . . would you say something, please?"

Harry swallowed, and his expression remained blank. "It's just . . . I thought nothing would really change. But . . . but I guess it has to."

"Change doesn't have to be bad," she offered. "Besides, you'll be wanting some time with Ginny, won't you?"

"Ginny'll be at school for the next month," he replied, trying to not sound like he was hurt.

"Right," said Hermione, nodding. "Right. Sorry, I forgot."

Harry studied her face a moment. She still looked worried, and he knew that she was thinking, behind that furrowed brow, about alternative solutions. "It's just," he said again, "Ron's my best mate."

"I know, Harry."

"And you . . . you're like my sister. You _are_ my sister." Hermione's cheeks flushed pink, and she smiled at him. "I thought we'd all be going to get your parents and bring them home; I thought we would do it together, like we've done everything."

She winced, worrying her brow even further together. "Are you angry?"

Harry thought a moment, and then decided on, "No. I'm just disappointed, I guess. I'll adjust, though – I mean, honestly. I've been through worse." He smiled a little, to show her he was sincere.

She smiled back. "I'm glad you understand."

Harry hugged her then, a little unexpectedly. "Try not to kill him, all right?" he said as he squeezed her.

She laughed. "I'll try," she replied as she pulled away.

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><p>Harry found Ginny soon after returning Hermione to Ron. In the absence of their usual stroll in the orchard at the Burrow, they joined hands and walked toward the Shrieking Shack. A memorial stone for Snape had been placed in the garden there; lilies had been planted around it. They would bloom soon enough, but for the time being they were crisp and green against the slightly cold early May afternoon.<p>

Harry beheld the stone reverently for a moment or two, and then strolled across the lawn to stand next to the gleaming black marker. He put his hand on the cold granite and spoke quietly.

"Professor Snape . . . I'm sorry I called you a coward . . . I'm sorry I look like my dad . . . I'm sorry we didn't find common ground. I should have listened to you . . . to Dumbledore about you . . . although you didn't exactly help all that much . . . but anyway . . . Professor . . . I guess what I want to say is . . . thank you. For me and for my arrogant father, but mostly, for my mum." Ginny joined him as he removed his hand and placed it in his pocket. "I hope, wherever you are, you're friends again."

Ginny put her arm through his, staring at what amounted to Snape's headstone. "It's weird," she said after a pause. "He was so mean . . . it's weird to think he had the capacity to love someone like that."

"Sirius told me once that the world isn't divided into good people and Death Eaters. I don't think I really believed him at the time."

"If Snape proved anything, though," said Ginny, "it's that things aren't always black and white. Everyone has lightness and darkness inside."

Harry squeezed her hand. "Maybe my mum was the one thing Snape felt he could let his light shine on."

"I think your mum must've been a pretty extraordinary witch. I wish you could've known her."

Harry turned to Ginny. "Me too." Then they turned and headed back toward the school, hand in hand.

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><p>Saying goodbye to Ginny at Hogwarts had proved to be both difficult and painful. He had tried to remind himself that it was only going to be a month and she'd be back at the Burrow; that he would be able to write to her, and she to him; that she'd be safe at Hogwarts – she was now safe, always, just like he wanted. It did little to dispel the ache in his belly, and her absence resulted in Harry being in a rather melancholy mood.<p>

On Sunday morning, Mr. Weasley read the Sunday Prophet article aloud for everyone to hear. It was dramatized, but basically factual. Harry hadn't really wanted to listen, but he sat at the scrubbed oak table with everyone and was as silent as Ron. Hermione felt the need to interject occasionally with clarifications, mumbling afterward about irresponsible journalism.

In addition to the actual story, of course, there were countless other articles about what had gone on in the last week. Mr. Weasley tried not to let him see the paper, but he got his hands on it eventually, and then wished he hadn't. These were far less kind – they questioned Harry's long absence, his motives, his integrity. He found himself wishing, again, that he'd been able to figure out the puzzle of the Horcruxes faster, so he could have prevented so much pain and suffering.

It wasn't much past ten o'clock when owls began to deliver all manner of mail for Harry, Ron, and Hermione – invitations to private parties, boxes of chocolate, job offers, love letters, requests to speak at events, and other trinkets. Before noon Harry had gotten no less than six marriage proposals. Thankfully, the Weasleys had reinforced the magical protection on the Burrow following Fred's funeral, so there were no unwanted visitors.

Ron and Hermione were scheduled to travel with an advisor from the Ministry of Magic, who would meet them at Ministry offices in the afternoon. Harry and Ron chatted while Ron packed, mostly about how nervous Hermione was, but they soon came to a lull in the conversation.

Ron paused in his packing, which was half-hearted at best. "Listen, mate," he began, "um . . . Hermione said . . . you were upset."

Harry, seated on Ron's bed, looked up at him. "Yeah?"

"Well . . . are you?"

Harry sighed and shifted his eyes to Ron's tattered Chudley Cannons poster. "It's just a bit weird," he replied. "I mean – this thing between you and Hermione."

"You don't have to tell me twice – wasn't long ago, you were kissing my sister."

Harry looked back at him, amused. "You're kissing mine now," he countered, not bothering to correct Ron's inaccurate perception of how long it'd been since he'd kissed Ginny.

Ron flushed as he grinned. "I hadn't thought of it that way."

Harry threw a pillow at him, which Ron caught and tossed back onto the bed. Then he flopped down on Harry's cot. "So. . . what are you going to do while we're gone?"

"I dunno," shrugged Harry. "Figure out where to live, I suppose." He chewed his lip a moment, thoughts swirling in his head. "What are you going to do when you get back?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean . . . Kingsley made us that offer. . . ."

Ron tilted his head. "You still want to be an Auror?"

"It fits, doesn't it?" replied Harry. "It's what we've been doing for the last year – longer than that, really. Since you and I met. It'd be nice to keep doing it, but with backup."

Ron thought a moment. "Yeah, I think it would. Take some of the risk out of it. Though honestly, I don't know if I'd want to do it my whole life."

"You never know though," said Harry. "You could wind up head of the department."

Ron snorted. "Not likely, mate," he said with a smirk. "But Harry . . . d'you want to do it – be an Auror, I mean? All this time you've been doing what you've been doing because you really had no other choice. But now, that's all over. You could do whatever you wanted – maybe you could even play Quidditch. You got that offer this morning from the Flamouth Falcons."

Harry made a face. "Yeah. But . . . it's the _Falcons_." He laughed with Ron a moment, and then Ron went back to his half-hearted packing.

"What do you think Hermione will do?" asked Harry, leaning against the wall.

"Hogwarts," Ron replied without hesitation. "She'll want to do her seventh year."

"Right," said Harry. He paused a moment, looking around Ron's room. "You never answered my question though – what are you going to do?"

"Well, considering I didn't get any offers to play professional Quidditch," he said with a smirk, "it'll be Auror training for me."

"Yeah?"

"Sure. I mean, you can hardly pass up an offer like that, can you? Don't think Mum wants me to do it, but if I listened to her I'd be living in this room the rest of my life."

Harry smiled. "As soon as you're back, then," he said, "let's go talk to Kingsley."

"Sure," said Ron, stuffing a final shirt into his rucksack and closing it up. "Well, I'm done here. Time to face Mum, I s'pose."

"You can't blame her for being emotional about you leaving," said Harry, rising. "She's nervous enough over Ginny being back at Hogwarts."

"I know. Still . . . I can't really ask Hermione to put it off. That's probably the only reason Mum's not in as much of a fuss as she would be."

Harry and Ron headed down the stairs then, and amid a lot of noise and fuss, Ron promised to be safe, promised to write, and promised to take care of Hermione. He kissed his mother's forehead and reassured her that he'd be back as soon as possible. Harry walked them to the garden gate and wished them luck, feeling awkward.

Hermione hugged him for a long time. "Are you sure you're okay with this?" she asked.

"Yes," replied Harry, pulling away and holding her at arm's length. "Besides . . . hopefully, it won't be long before you're back. And then Ginny'll be home for the summer, and maybe it'll feel a little more normal."

She smiled and squeezed his arms. "I'll see you really soon," she said. He nodded; she backed away, and turned around. Ron gave him one last wave before he took her hand and led her from the Burrow.

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><p>Sunday evening found Harry strolling aimlessly and alone in the garden. With Ginny back at school, and Ron and Hermione in Australia, he honestly didn't know what to do with himself. Dinner had been a subdued affair, the quietest meal he'd ever witnessed at the Burrow. Not long after Ron and Hermione had left, Bill and Fleur had gone back to Shell Cottage. George was not up to regular conversation just yet, and Charlie was quiet by nature. Percy was scheduled to go back to work the following day, after which he would return to his flat in London.<p>

Harry stayed mainly because he didn't know where else to go. His one option, Grimmauld Place, was less than appealing. Kreacher was there, and wanted him to return, but Harry had never considered it a home, and knew that Sirius – who had left it to him – had always hated it.

He was relatively deep in the orchard when he heard footsteps in the grass behind him. His heart gave a leap until he realized it couldn't be Ginny, who usually knew right where to find him. He stopped and turned to find Mr. Weasley behind him.

"Hello, Harry," greeted the older man. "Mind if I join you?"

Harry gestured to the grass beside him. "Not at all. What brings you out here, sir?"

"I always liked a walk on Sunday evenings," he replied. "Gets the blood flowing, makes for a good night's sleep." He paused then, meeting the younger man's eyes. "Also, Molly sent me out here to make sure you weren't thinking of leaving just because Ron's gone for a few days."

Harry smiled. "Actually, I was thinking about that – about where to go from here. I'm not sure what I should do next." Harry turned back to his path, and Mr. Weasley fell in step beside him. "I know Mrs. Weasley wants me to stay, but really, I need to find a place of my own."

"You have Grimmauld Place," suggested Mr. Weasley.

Harry sighed a little. "I know. It's just . . . not my favorite thought. I don't even know if it's safe."

"Kingsley's got that all sorted. Your house, as well as all of the other Order safe houses, have been cleared."

The younger man turned his head a little to glance at Mr. Weasley curiously. "Oh . . . I didn't know."

"Yes . . . and apparently, according to Robards, who checked it himself, your house elf has been quite busy. Robards used the words 'spotless' and 'gleaming.'" He smiled over at Harry.

"Really?" Harry turned his attention back to the path. "Maybe it won't be so bad, then."

Mr. Weasley was quiet for a moment, and then asked, "Have you given any thought to Kingsley's offer?"

"Ron and I were just talking about that before he left," replied Harry.

"Oh?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. We'll talk to Kingsley about it when he gets back from Australia."

"You're both going to accept?"

"Yeah – but . . . you probably don't want to mention that to Mrs. Weasley just yet."

Mr. Weasley chuckled a little. "You're right about that. But I must admit that does surprise me a little, Harry. There is a world of possibilities open to you now – you don't have to fight anymore. You can do whatever you like."

Harry stopped, turning to look at Mr. Weasley. "Can I tell you something in confidence, sir?"

"Always, Harry."

"I don't feel like there are possibilities. For me, I mean."

"Harry?"

He turned to Mr. Weasley and tried to explain. "My parents were murdered in front of me when I was one. I was raised in a closet, my cousin beat me up every chance he got, my aunt and uncle reminded me daily of how much they hated me, and then . . ." He raised his eyes to the sky momentarily, and then met Mr. Weasley's again. "Then my fondest wish comes true, and I get taken away from all that, only to spend the next seven years of my life being hunted by an evil Dark wizard. Now all that's over . . . and I've accepted that . . . but I feel . . . old. Like I've already lived a lifetime. What would be the point changing now – doing something different? And what different thing would I do?"

Mr. Weasley shook his head. "Ah – but there's so much left," he said. "So much, Harry! You're now like every other young man your age . . . starting a career, establishing your life, enjoying yourself – and eventually, having a family. You're now on the path to the life you longed for when you were living at your aunt and uncle's." He paused to let Harry absorb this. "Had you really forgotten?"

Harry paused to consider this. "I think I had," he whispered. "It's just . . . that life seems so far away, Mr. Weasley. It seems . . . like I had to give it up to fight Voldemort and it's impossible to get it back. It's too late for me."

"But don't you understand, Harry? That life is what you fought for."

"Is it?" he asked, looking up sharply at Mr. Weasley. "Or did I just fight for my own life?"

Mr. Weasley shook his head. "Harry, don't you _dare_ listen to what those self-serving crows write in the paper," he said, his tone so stern that Harry had to look away. "Full-grown wizards have difficulty accepting the fact that a seventeen year old boy did what they could not. That's all that is."

Harry was silent for several long moments. He thought of Lupin and Tonks, and most painfully of Fred.

As if he could read Harry's thoughts, Mr. Weasley spoke. "My son did not die for you," he said gently. "He supported you and he was a friend to you, but you should know that he fought for all of us. He fought for Muggle-borns and half-bloods; he fought for the freedom a Death Eater-controlled ministry took away. He fought so that the Teddy Lupins of the world could grow up without fear, without being shackled into a sub-group of wizards and judged by that alone. When we made the decision to go to Hogwarts that night, we all knew, Harry, we _knew _there was a very good chance we wouldn't be coming back."

Harry thought of George's words as he sat next to Fred's body in the cold, abandoned classroom that had served as a makeshift morgue. He focused his eyes on blades of grass, trying not to let the tears roll down his cheeks.

"Fred was not afraid to give his life for other wizards' freedom. He and the other brave souls who died that night fought not for Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, but for what you were fighting for – an end to fear, an end to tyranny, for hope and for a new beginning in peace. I love my son and I miss him, and it tears me apart that I had to bury him, but Harry, I do not doubt for a moment that Fred is better off right where he is. I do not doubt he is in a better place."

Harry gave up the pretence of being strong enough not to shed tears and met Mr. Weasley's eyes. "How do you do it, Mr. Weasley?" he asked, blinking hard. "You've lost so much and you can still think about the future; you can still put other peoples' happiness first."

"It's part of being a family, Harry," he said, his voice low. "My family's happiness is my own. I know you haven't had anyone to show you that path, but that's what it's about. You have been through far more than any other young man I've ever met, but you still have life left in you – so _much_ life. And I begin to suspect that that life will always contain a Weasley . . . and I don't mean Ron."

And then, unbidden into Harry's mind came the image again of Ginny in a white dress, but instead of standing next to a faceless, unpleasant stranger, Harry himself was standing there, smiling down at her with his hair in all directions, his cheeks full and flushed, and his scar, faded . . . barely there, because it did not matter anymore.

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><p><em>Thanks for reading!<em>


	6. Chapter 6

**_Hello! A quick note: I haven't responded yet to reviews (the last week's been really crazy) but I do want to thank those of you who took the time and trouble to submit one. They really make my day!_**

**_Also: I'm not terribly fond of a ton of letters in stories, but I thought this might be a fun way to show Harry and Ginny apart, but still together. _**

**_Hope you enjoy!_**

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><p>Dear Ginny,<p>

It's a bit odd, writing you like this. I don't think I ever needed to before. I'm really looking forward to the summer, when we can be together again.

How is school going? Hope it's not too much work getting caught up. I was surprised to hear that there wouldn't be any Quidditch until next year – McGonagall loves it. I suppose it's enough for her to get academics back in order, though.

I'm still at the Burrow, but a few days ago I went to Number 12 to look it over with your dad. He told me before we went that Kreacher had cleaned it up – I think that's one of the biggest understatements I've ever heard. The place is spotless. Plus, the whole time we were there, Kreacher was respectful of your dad and I never once heard Sirius's mother screech. Looks like that's where I'll be living. It's odd to think of, but nice, in a way – a place of my own. Someday I'd like to have a proper house, with a garden and a place to play Quidditch, but for the next couple of years I think it'll do nicely.

Did you see the article in the Sunday Prophet? It was all right, I think. Hermione took some issues with it. Lots of other articles too, more critical ones. Your dad tried to hide the paper from me. Should've taken his hint.

I talked to Kingsley and Robards about the Auror offer on Monday. I was going to wait until Ron got back from Australia, but they came to the Burrow. They say the Auror department needs to re-group and re-organize before they can take on any new recruits, so it'll be another month or so. Also, they say the people they take on are usually far more green than Ron and I are, so they need to determine how the program will look, I guess. Usually it's three years, but we'll see what happens in a few months.

Your mum's doing all right. She likes to put me to work and it's nice to have something useful to do, so I think we've made a good pair this last week. Keeps me from thinking of things too much; that's probably true for both of us. She's not as short-tempered or weepy as she was at first, I think because your dad's been slipping her own sleeping draught into her evening cuppa. Charlie's missing his dragons. He convinced George to come with him back to Romania for a visit. I think it'll be good for George to get away for a while. They're leaving tomorrow morning; your mum's pretty cut up about it, but she's hiding it well, for George's sake.

Have you heard much from Ron and Hermione? I got an owl from Ron to say they'd got to Australia all right, and then one from Hermione saying the Australian Ministry was working on finding her parents. No word yet though on whether they're well or the state of their memories.

Well, your mum's calling for me – I think I'm about to go de-gnome the garden. I'd much rather be with you.

See you soon.

Harry

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><p>Dear Harry,<p>

Sorry about the de-gnoming, but better you than me.

The Quidditch situation is rubbish, but there isn't much to be done about it. We'll have to make up for lost time this summer. McGonagall is unmoved by any plea, as usual. That at least hasn't changed.

Speaking of McGonagall, school's mad. I don't think I've ever worked this much, even last year studying for OWLs. It's really weird being back; at Easter, before I left, things were so different. Luna and I are hoping for a Hogsmeade weekend – everyone needs a break already.

Keep me posted on Romania – Charlie's great, but rough around the edges. But then George might respond better to that than mum's coddling.

I got an owl from Hermione just last night – she went on about how their trip went and said that her parents had been located, but that the Ministry wanted to research their history in Australia before they attempted recovery. Sounds like she and Ron are doing all right, seeing the sights – mostly beaches. They haven't killed each other yet. The snogging probably helps with that.

Luna and Neville say hello. I invited them both to come to the Burrow this summer, but I don't know if her dad or his gran will let them come for too long – they probably want to keep them close for a while. Unless Mum invites their families, that might be fun. Or just really interesting.

The letter-writing is a little odd, isn't it? But honestly, it's really lovely to be able to write and not worry about things being intercepted. I think we'll have to get used to it – especially as you'll be spending the next three years, or however long it turns out to be, becoming an Auror. You know, so you can keep doing what you've been doing since you were born, only now they'll have to pay you for it. Neville was talking about joining, too – that surprises me, but I have no doubt he'll be brilliant.

For myself, I'm not sure what I want to do once I leave Hogwarts. I don't even remember the career conversation I had with McGonagall before I sat my OWLs. I do all right in most subjects so nothing's really out of my reach. I might like to teach something though, or maybe study to become a Healer. In any case I'll have to narrow it down soon enough so I can hammer out my schedule for next year.

I promised Luna I'd study with her for a Transfiguration exam, so I'd better finish up. Would it be asking too much if you didn't leave the Burrow until I got back? It would be nice to know you're there for Mum, since everyone else has gone.

Oh, and I almost forgot – congratulations on that offer from the Falcons! I'll have to pretend I don't know you if you accept, though.

Ginny

* * *

><p>Dear Ginny,<p>

I've let the Falcons down gently.

Heard from Ron – he says Australia's brilliant. Apparently there's been a little complication though, and the Australian Ministry is reluctant to attempt to recover Mr. and Mrs. Granger's memories right now. He said Hermione didn't want it discussed, but he didn't seem too worried about it and it sounded like he expected to be home before too long. Apparently they've spent a lot of time on the beach – if I had to guess, he's sleeping and she's reading, whilst I de-gnome gardens. It's all right though; they both deserve to do what they like for a while.

Charlie sent an owl to say they'd got to Romania safely. Your mum fretted about George for a few days, and then George sent a quick note saying he was fine and that he'd be back soon enough. The letter was singed in places. I don't know whether George did it to whip your mum up or if that's just really the state of things around Charlie's place.

I'm happy to stay at the Burrow for a little longer. I thought I'd get used to the quiet, but I haven't. Something's definitely missing without a gaggle of gingers around.

I went to London today, as you may have noticed. There was a lot of staring in Diagon Alley, but that was better than all of the glares I got when I went to Gringott's. I was kind of surprised they let me in the door, and downright astonished that they let me into my vault – and then let me out. To be fair, I did break in, infiltrate a vault that didn't belong to me, steal their dragon, and destroy the place.

It was sad to see Weasley's Wizard Wheezes still empty, but honestly, there weren't a ton of people. I just needed a few things – quills and parchment, obviously, and a new pet. The great horned owl who will deliver this letter to you is very smart, a bit stand-offish, and no-nonsense; I named her Minerva. The bloke at Eeylop's wanted to give her to me; I declined, but he recognized Mrs. Weasley and told her anytime she needed a new owl, all she had to do was ask. It was nice to see her blush and smile like that; I think she was genuinely touched. Minerva's ignored Pig so far. You'll have to let me know how she does – this will be her first letter.

I looked at other snowy owls, but I just couldn't – I really miss Hedwig.

But it's not all shopping, dusting, and de-gnoming for me – Kingsley's been around a few times and I've spent some time at the Ministry. Not allowed in the field – nothing's official yet – but we're trying to track down certain known Death Eaters. Plenty of them are still out there. Apparently Lucius Malfoy has offered his full and complete cooperation in exchange for immunity. I don't know what to think about that. The Ministry is still something of a mess, as you can imagine. In addition to the Death Eater business, there are other witches and wizards who – while not marked – still did Voldemort's work. People like Umbridge, if you recall her pretty face. Funny enough, she hasn't been seen in the last few weeks. So, lots to do.

I've met most of the Aurors and they seem all right. They're busy and short-staffed and I get the sense that they're not sure who to trust anymore. I think Kingsley can bring everyone together again, though, and I like Robards.

Anyway, it's getting late and I'm sure I've gotten boring. Two more weeks – doesn't seem like too much time. I still watch your dot on the map. You're in your dormitory right now, dreaming of me, I presume.

I miss you.

Harry

* * *

><p>Dear Harry,<p>

Hermione confided in me, but asked me not to tell anyone at school. Naturally I'm taking her request literally, so here's the complication:

Dr. and Dr. Granger arrived in Australia and settled in fine. They found themselves a rental property and made friends with their neighbors, all of whom had either loads of children or loads of grandchildren. A few weeks into their stay, round about the end of July, the Grangers started talking about children, and the fact that they didn't have any. They couldn't remember why they had chosen not to have children, and reasoning that they were still young enough – I think Hermione's mum is still in her mid-40's – decided to go for it, and now Hermione has a three-week old sister called Arcelia.

She's completely horrified. She fretted away in her letter, reasoning that it wasn't likely that Arcelia is magical, and how would she explain herself to her baby sister, and what if Arcelia feared or resented Hermione for her abilities, and what if, what if, what if . . . you know Hermione. I think it's excellent; I'd love a baby sister. Because Mrs. Granger only just gave birth, the Australian Ministry wants to hold off another week or two to reverse the memory charm, but they're confident that it can be done successfully. Hermione, of course, is worried about whether her parents will be angry, whether they will understand, whether they will love Arcelia more than herself, etc. It's Hermione.

I got a letter from George, which surprised me. (The parchment was not singed.) He talked more about how mad Charlie is for working with dragons than anything else, but he seemed all right. Charlie's going to come back to England with him – probably they're at the Burrow now, I got the letter a few days ago. Charlie agreed to help him to open the shop in a few weeks. I'm sure it looked sad, but no one's allowed into the building yet. Because we were a targeted family, the Auror department wants to check it over, and as you mentioned they're understaffed. (Speaking of, Neville is definitely joining.) Maybe, with your new friends, you could speed that up? Maybe you could check it out yourself?

School is still completely mad. A few days ago we bombarded McGonagall with requests for spontaneous, non-competitive Quidditch and a Hogsmeade weekend, but the answer's still no. She said if we were feeling squirrelly a brisk walk would do and no one should be bored. I suppose it's only ten days or so now, and we've been through worse.

Your beautiful Minerva did a lovely job, although she is a bit icy until she's done her work – very aptly named. Mum will never enter Eeylop's and ask for a free owl. Would you mind doing it? A good, sturdy barn owl would be just what she'd need – with most of her children now gone from the house, she's writing non-stop letters. Pig is eager, but he'll die of heart failure at the rate she's going.

With regard to Umbridge and the likes of her – they should be stripped of their wands. Sorry excuses for wizards and witches, the lot of them. Just set them all down with blood quills. And then infest them with a permanent case of dragon pox. I had that when I was four, did I ever tell you? It was dreadful.

I'm half-asleep in the common room writing this and it's late. I know the exact spot I stood when you kissed me that first time. Is that marked on your map? I wish you were here with me. Ten more days – we can do it.

Oh – don't mention that I told you about the "complication", if you can. I don't know what state Hermione will be in when she gets back home, and when she's angry, she can throw a hex. Not as well as I can, mind you, but still.

See you soon.

Ginny

* * *

><p>Dear Ginny,<p>

Hermione's got a what? I can't believe it! I mean, that's really excellent for the Grangers – Hermione'll come round, don't you think? I really hope they aren't angry though. It's my fault she did it.

I do have good news for Hermione though – we have her wand. It was amongst some of the things that the Malfoys turned over to the Ministry, and it appears to be undamaged. She'll be pleased to have it back, and Robards will let me return it to her.

George and Charlie returned safely enough – Charlie had a few more burns than he did before, I'm sure. I think it was good for George, even though it was just a few days. He seems more upbeat and is more talkative. I talked to Robards about speeding up the process of getting the shop looked over, but he said there wasn't much he could do about it. I suppose he's got to do what he's got to do and probably doesn't want to show favoritism to anyone, as wonky as the department is right now. But he said I could go along when they do look it over. Honestly, I think it's all a bit much – I could be loads more useful to them than they think.

I went to visit Teddy today. Andromeda seemed a little less melancholy and he was happy and gurgling. Other than turning his hair a rainbow of colors he was generally very baby-like. He's very strong and healthy, and really adorable, and I admired him as much as I could, but honestly, he's a bit boring right now. When do babies start doing stuff?

You are in the Great Hall right now, where I assume you are eating and studying simultaneously. Sod the map, that spot is burned into my memory forever. Not much longer now.

Harry

* * *

><p>Dear Harry bloody Potter,<p>

You. Bastard.

You willfully failed to die when you were a baby, completely oblivious to most things, when a madman tried to kill you. Then when you got to Hogwarts you were arrogant enough to strike up a friendship with Hermione Granger, knowing full well you'd be putting her life, and her parents' lives, in danger. You absolute wanker.

Seriously though, listen to me, Harry bloody Potter, and listen well:

It is NOT your bloody fault that Hermione hid her bloody parents and if you bloody say that it is, or that anything else that's happened in the last seven bleeding years is your fault EVER BLEEDING AGAIN, HARRY BLOODY POTTER, you will find out exactly how good my bat-bogey hex is!

For your information, it's brilliant.

Right. So. I have no idea when babies start doing something other than eating, sleeping, and messing their nappies. Ask Mum; she's got the experience.

Exams the last week have been terrible. I took my last two today – Potions, then Transfiguration. Potions wasn't as bad as I was expecting, but someone's cauldron exploded just as we were leaving and I stayed behind to help Slughorn get the room back in order. I got to McGonagall's class late, but it didn't matter because she wanted each of us to go privately into her office for our exam. I was the last one to appear, so I was the last one in line. As everyone was leaving they looked a bit upset, but I just figured the test was up to McGonagall's usual unobtainable standard. When it was my turn, she came out and asked if I were the last one. When I said I was, she asked me why I'd been late (honestly, nothing gets past that witch), and I explained. So then we went into her office for the exam. She had me transfigure a bunch of things, which frankly I did with an exemplary level of skill, and then she told me she would be taking up the post of Headmistress, and as such would not be able to continue as Head of Gryffindor House. She looked sad. I expect next year will be a huge change for Gryffindor.

But the good news? I took advantage of her sentimentality and convinced her that we should celebrate the last few days of an unusually tumultuous term by playing Quidditch. As soon as the school was notified we were all running out to the pitch, but Slughorn caught me just as I was leaving the building. To thank me for staying and helping with the blown-up cauldron, he offered me a pair of tickets to a Holyhead Harpies match – I was so excited, about the Quidditch, and then the tickets – I'm afraid I was a little overzealous in my thanks and praise for the Harpies. I was so keyed up I didn't even notice who was standing behind him. It was Gwenog Jones! Right there, with Slughorn! So of course I was even stupider, I'm sure, once we'd met, and I invited her to the pitch to play with us, and she came out and played – we were a jumble of people, no houses, just Quidditch, and I played Chaser on her team and she played Seeker and the whole day was just so brilliant, aside from the exams, and then, to make it even better, as she was heading out she complimented me on my playing and said she'd be back to watch some Hogwarts Quidditch next year! I'm still worked up at ten in the evening.

Only a kiss from you could make today more perfect. I'll see you in a few days.

Ginny


	7. Chapter 7

Again - I'm not English, so if the story has Americanisms in it, it's inadvertent. If you point them out, I can fix them. I tried to find a UK English Beta, but had no luck. Hope you enjoy this despite its flaws! :)

* * *

><p>Hermione and Ron had both been required to turn over the wands they had; she was using Bellatrix's wand and he had Peter Pettigrew's. They were both now using wands that belonged to the Weasley family – one that had belonged to Gideon Prewett went to Ron, and his grandmother's wand went to Hermione. They worked reasonably well, although Ron and Hermione had the general impression that their wands were only tolerating them.<p>

When he'd first found Hermione's wand in the jumble of dark artifacts and documents that had been turned over by the Malfoys, Harry had been elated and had all but begged Robards to let him have it so that he could be the one to return it to her. While this wasn't the usual way to return items to the people from whom they had been stolen, particularly in the case of wands, it had really been the only thing Harry had asked for, so Robards gave in and handed it over to Harry.

Harry had been looking forward to seeing Hermione and Ron again, and the wand made him a little more anxious for their return. But something Hermione said before they'd left occurred to him when he'd gotten back to the Burrow that day. He was looking the wand over, waiting for the ink to dry on the letter he'd just written to Ginny.

"_Memory charms can be really tricky to reverse, especially without the wand that placed them – and I haven't got my wand back yet,"_ she'd said.

According to Ron, no one had attempted to reverse the memory charm yet. Maybe if he could get the wand to her quickly, there would be less need to delay, and less risk that something would go wrong in the process. He scrawled a note to Hermione, wrapped up the wand, and then headed back to the Ministry.

International portkeys were usually open just one day a week, although for the last several years many countries had been unwilling to maintain one with Great Britain due to the tumult in its Ministry. Australia had opted to close theirs except upon approval of their own Minister. Kingsley Shacklebolt had been able to open the portkey again for Ron and Hermione, so Harry hoped that regular travel had resumed.

The International Portkey Office was untidy, and the witch at the Information and Assistance desk seemed rather put out to have been asked for her assistance.

"Courier for Australia leaves in twenty minutes. Parcels must be clearly marked and may not contain food, potions, breakables, or anything which breathes."

"Right – well, it's just a wand."

The witch turned back to the stack of paper she was sorting, her wand flicking left, right, up, and forward. "Wands are considered breakable and may not be taken via courier," she informed Harry in a monotone.

"But I need to get this to my friend as soon as possible," he replied.

"Wands. Are considered. Breakable." She didn't even look up.

Not willing to give up so easily, Harry began, "Well, is there someone I can talk to about this? I really need to get this to my friend, she needs-"

"NO EXCEPTIONS!" thundered the witch. Then she set her own wand down, leaned across the counter, and narrowed her eyes to slits. "Not even for you, Harry _sodding_ Potter."

Harry was surprised at the venom in her voice. "I never expected-"

"I'll tell you what _I_ never expected," she spat. "I never expected to be a widow at thirty-five! I never expected to have to raise my daughter alone! I never expected _my own parents_ to turn me away because I chose to marry someone who wasn't magical, and they feared for their own lives. And all the while I was trying to manage on my own, what is the Wizarding world concerned about? A _boy_," she seethed. "A boy with a _family_ to care for him. Maybe you lost your _parents_, but you had an uncle, didn't you?" Harry couldn't answer, confounded by her anger. "_Didn't you_?"

"Yes, but-"

"But _nothing_! And while everyone else was suffering, what were _you_ doing? Camping with your mates, traipsing about the countryside!"

This was too much for Harry, and he tried to end her tirade. "Look, I don't think you read the article properly. Maybe have another go at it. All I want right now-"

"All _I_ want right now is my husband back." The witch straightened and took up her wand again, her cold gaze on Harry unwavering. "_You_ were the exception that could have saved him, should have protected him, and you _didn't_. You'll get nothing from me." And she went back to her work, ignoring Harry completely.

He left the office then, Hermione's wand still in his hands. The critical voices from the Sunday Prophet, the ones that had been kept at bay by the kind words Mr. Weasley had spoken in the orchard, began to swirl in his head again. True, he knew nothing of the woman and her circumstances, but that didn't stop Harry's almost instinctive reaction, which was guilt – for not having known sooner, for not having done more, faster, for being too thick to understand the puzzle that Dumbledore left him to solve in time to save more people.

As he walked the corridors of the Ministry, slightly dazed and not really knowing where he was headed, he came upon Gawain Robards, the Head Auror.

"Hello, Potter – wasn't expecting to see you here," he said cheerfully. "Thought you'd gone."

"I did," replied Harry. "I, uh . . . I came back."

Robards paused, waiting for him to elaborate, but he didn't. "Right. Well, it's good that I bumped into you. Come to my office, I have something to share with you."

Harry nodded and followed him down the corridor, the witch's harsh words still stinging his ears. When they reached their destination, Harry sat woodenly in the chair opposite Robards, who pondered him for a moment.

"Is that your friend's wand?"

Harry looked down at his hands. "Oh – erm – yes, this is Hermione's. I was at the International Portkey office . . . they wouldn't send it with the courier. Said it was breakable."

He made a face. "Margaret is rather . . . unyielding about those kinds of things. Wouldn't make an exception, eh?"

Harry offered a humorless laugh. "No. She was rather vocal about that, actually." Not wanting to think about it any further, however, he looked up. "You said you had something for me?"

"Oh yes!" Robards smiled. "Potter, we have a very special mission for you."

The tone with which he made this statement, as well as the smile upon his large, sculpted face, led Harry to believe that what they had for him was something exciting – maybe a tad dangerous – and, above all else, useful. He was not prepared for what his future leader said next.

"We need you to go into Wales . . . and retrieve the Dursleys."

He spoke with a flourish and Harry got the impression that Robards thought he was bringing Christmas early. Harry stared at him open-mouthed for a moment, until he realized that he likely resembled a codfish.

"Sorry?"

Robards chuckled a little. "Your family!" he replied. "We've determined the house on Privet Drive is safe to return to, and you can retrieve them at any time you like."

Harry really didn't know how to react. He was silent a moment, searching Robard's face for any kind of clue that maybe he wasn't serious, maybe it was a joke that Ron had put him up to, but there was none.

"You know, sir . . . I uh, I never had any delusions about the job," he began.

Robards creased his brow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean . . . if this is a way to show me that being an Auror isn't glamorous, I already knew that. I mean . . . I've gone without showers and food . . . I lived in a tent for a long time."

"This is a way for us to get your relatives back where they belong," replied Robards. "What are you saying, Potter?"

"Nothing," he replied quickly. If that was his task, then that was his task. He wasn't in charge and he didn't want to be. "Nothing. Who's going with me?"

Robards smiled again. "You were probably hoping for something a little more exciting, eh? But don't worry, that'll come. I think you can handle this one on your own. That'll give me a chance to get caught up a bit."

Harry nodded woodenly. "I guess I'll check in with you once I get to Wales," he said slowly.

"Very good, Potter! Oh – and about that wand. I know you wanted to give it back to Granger, but one of my Aurors can take it to Australia."

Harry's head snapped up, and he eyed Robards closely. "But . . . Margaret, at the portkey office, said wands-"

Robards rolled his eyes. "Margaret is, and always has been, a melodramatic bureaucrat," he replied. "No decent wizard goes anywhere without his wand. What's the difference if he has two?"

This made Harry smile, and he handed Hermione's wand to Robards across the desk. "That would be great," he replied. "More than great – can you get it to her soon?"

"I can have Williams take it tomorrow," he replied. "How's that?"

Now the younger man smiled, relieved. "Fantastic," he replied. "Thank you so much."

They parted cheerfully, and Robards went back to his work. Harry left the office, still slightly dazed, and made for the Burrow.

* * *

><p>To say that Mrs. Weasley was in a bit of a bother was an understatement. Harry had just informed her of his plans to make 12 Grimmauld Place his permanent home, which she was not taking well. She was flitting about the kitchen at the Burrow, talking at top speed and not paying much attention to what she was doing.<p>

"I don't like it, Harry . . . I just don't like it. You're not even eighteen . . . no parents . . . no siblings . . . living in that place . . . could be Death Eaters around every turn . . . no one there to help you . . . I don't like it one bit!"

Harry had, as delicately as he could, just informed her that he'd soon be leaving the Burrow for Grimmauld Place. He was sitting at the scrubbed oak table in the kitchen with Charlie, who'd offered his assistance in the matter. "Kingsley says it's safe – he had the Auror office check it out – and I've got Kreacher," said Harry helpfully.

He shouldn't have said it; Mrs. Weasley rounded on him. "Aurors and _house _elves? Paltry excuse for a proper family! How is a _house elf _is going to parent and protect you, Harry?"

He bit back commentary on his almost life-long lack of parents. "I just meant . . . he's there. He defended us at Hogwarts, you know. Plus he does all of his house-elfy things . . . laundry, the washing up . . . he's not a bad cook, either . . . although he's not you."

This compliment caught Mrs. Weasley off guard a bit. "Well . . . thank you, Harry . . . that's very kind of you to say. But I still don't like this business of you going to London, all alone."

"Who's going to London?" asked George, who had just come in the back door.

"Harry is," replied Charlie, taking advantage of his mother's distraction to steal a dinner roll.

"Grimmauld Place, eh? Not very cheerful, Harry. But not all that different from here. Tell you what, mate – I'll go with you. Shop needs opening."

"George . . . ." Mrs. Weasley had stopped what she was doing and covered her mouth. "How can you even _think_ of leaving?"

George approached his mother. "Look, Mum . . . I know . . . I know we're all in pain and we all miss Fred. No one misses him more than I do. But I've been thinking about this ever since his funeral . . . d'you really think he'd have wanted all of us to mope about like this?"

"You don't understand, George," said Mrs. Weasley weakly. "He's my son . . . I carried him under my heart right next to you, I nursed him, I changed his nappies, I taught him how to walk and talk and ride a broom, I protected him from his brothers-"

"Just as often as you protected _us_ from _him_," quipped Charlie, grinning.

George chuckled and received a scowl from his mother for his trouble. "Scowl all you want; Charlie's spot on. Point is, Fred loved a laugh, and you lot haven't laughed since his funeral. Fred wouldn't want this. He wouldn't want anyone to stop living. I'm going back to Diagon Alley to clean up the shop and re-open it. Charlie's coming with me, and Harry's going home, but Mum. . . ." He put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. "We'll be back."

At these words, Mrs. Weasley leaned into George's chest and sobbed.

"Oh, Mum . . . ." George squeezed his mother, rubbing her back while Charlie and Harry looked on.

After several long moments, Mrs. Weasley pulled away from her son. "You'll be back," she said, conviction in her voice. "Of course you will." She kissed all three of them, and then said, "But I still don't like you being alone, Harry."

He smiled. "I won't be completely alone. I'll have Kreacher, and Charlie and George won't be far away. I'll be all right."

"We'd like to leave after supper," said George. "Harry'll come with us, won't you, Harry?"

Harry turned slightly pink. "Actually . . . I promised Ginny I wouldn't leave until she got back."

Both Charlie and George's eyebrows shot up simultaneously, but Mrs. Weasley patted his cheek. "How very sweet of you, Harry dear," she said as she went about making dinner, this time without so much arm-flailing and wand-flicking.

With his mother thus occupied, George turned to Harry. "Come to the sitting room with me, Harry," he said. "I'd like a word."

Harry looked at Charlie, who gave him a shrug, and then followed George. Harry was happy to see the ghost of the old glimmer in George's eyes when he began pacing the long room.

"Harry . . . Harry James, is it?" Harry nodded. "Mr. Potter. I have heard rumors circulating recently regarding the nature of the relationship between yourself and my baby sister-"

"From whom?"

"From my baby brother, but don't interrupt. Now, I don't want you to be concerned that I don't approve – because I do, of course . . . you know, you being The Chosen One, and The Boy Who Lived Twice, and all that rot. Besides you're a brilliant Quidditch player and loyal friend to ickle Ronnykins. My warning, O Savior of All Wizarddom, is not against you. It's against Miss Ginevra."

Charlie nodded. "Terrible temper, that girl. 'Specially if she doesn't win at chess."

"Once again, Charlie's right – astonishingly enough. I mean, I love the little Harpy, but don't incur her wrath."

"She once hexed me because she thought I intentionally aimed a bludger at her."

"Well, did you?" asked Harry, wanting to smile and enjoying this exchange with Charlie and George. He was genuinely happy that George's sense of humor had not died along with his twin. It had dried up a bit, that was certain, but it was still there and was already playing an integral role in his family's healing.

"What a shocking accusation, Mr. Potter!" exclaimed George. "Charles, what have you to say in your defense?"

Charlie grinned, entertained and eager to defend himself. "Wasn't my fault, that – Percy tossed it at you and missed so it came after me, and I dodged it so it went after Ginny."

"But you didn't stop it?" Harry asked.

Charlie shrugged. "Ginny's a big girl – she handled it all right."

George shook his head in mock dismay. "Shameful, Charles."

Harry turned to George. "I appreciate the warning, but the last seven years I've noted that Ginny just knows how to defend herself. She's got six brothers . . . she was bound to pick up tips from you lot."

"All the same, Harry," said George, "please do heed my advice. And don't forget those six brothers she has – we're all bigger than you, even Percy." He clapped Harry on the shoulder, and then turned to Charlie. "We should pack, eh?"

With a grin, Charlie nodded and headed up the stairs with his brother, leaving Harry to ponder George's words.

* * *

><p>Two days later, as he was preparing to go to King's Cross to retrieve Ginny with the Weasleys, a very haggard-looking owl arrived for him.<p>

_Dear Harry,_

_Just a quick note – need to get to the Ministry. Got your parcel. Hermione is in tears, she's so happy to have her wand back. It'll make the memory reversal business much simpler, she says._

_We should be home soon – a week, two tops. Tell Mum._

_Ron_

Harry smiled. He knew he would endure the kind of censure that Margaret had inflicted upon him again, but it had been worth the harsh words to know that he'd done something helpful for his friend. He folded the letter, and went in search of Mrs. Weasley.

* * *

><p>Thanks so much for reading!<p> 


	8. Chapter 8

Although Harry would not be staying, he accompanied George and Charlie to the shop after they'd eaten, and his parents had said their teary and reluctant good-byes. The Auror office still had not gotten an opportunity to inspect Number 93 Diagon Alley, but this was of little importance to George. The lease was paid up, which meant he had the right to enter, and so enter he would. Harry thought it was a bit reckless of George, but understood completely.

The shop was dark, dusty, and a mess. The shelves were mostly empty, since the twins had managed to take most items with them to Muriel's. It was clear that someone had been there looking for something – Weasleys and Grangers and Potters, perhaps? – and that when they did not find it, decided some mindless destruction was in order.

In silence, they went through the shop, inspecting every door, window, closet, drawer, lightswitch, floorboard crack, and vent-flap in the building. The upstairs, where George and Fred lived, would be seen to when George felt himself ready to go through Fred's things. For the time being, Charlie and George had gotten a room at the Leaky Cauldron. Harry and Charlie checked the upstairs for safety; finding no threat, they came back down to report that all was well.

"It's tossed about, but that's all," said Harry. "Didn't look like anything was broken. Although . . . you probably want new bedding. Yours has developed a certain pungent fragrance, and appears to have turned yellow."

George cringed a little, but was really not surprised. The three of them fell silent for a moment, looking around at the disaster that now needed to be dealt with. Just as George was wondering aloud whether he'd have to pay for the damage to the building, Charlie noticed a piece of folded parchment stuck to the register, which had been indented with what appeared to be a beater's bat. He walked over, having to step over some of the wreckage. He unfolded it and read:

_Messrs. Weasley,_

_For having irresponsibly left the premises unguarded during your absence, about which I was not informed, you are hereby requested and required to pay, according to your contract, the full cost of repair, plus ten percent._

_Upon your return, please contact me for an estimate of damages. Half of the estimate must be paid before any work shall begin._

_Thank you for your prompt attention to this matter._

_Sincerely,_

_Leonard R. Bennet, __Owner  
><em>_93 Diagon Alley_

"Answers that question," said Charlie, his brow furrowed. He handed the note to George.

"He certainly knows how to add insult to injury," added George once he'd read it over himself. "Wasn't ever a laugh, Leo, but still." Then he carelessly tossed the note to the floor.

"I reckon we can get this in order without your friend's help," said Charlie.

"Wonder if he'll give me a half-price discount, now that there's only one of us," said George idly, surveying the damages.

"That's not funny, George," snapped Charlie with a scowl.

"Yes, it was," came the reply, and Charlie looked around at George to scold him, only to realize that it was Harry who'd spoken.

He looked slightly guilty as he surveyed Charlie for his response – Harry didn't know Charlie as well as he knew the other Weasleys, so he couldn't be certain of what Charlie would do. But he wasn't altogether surprised when Charlie's scowl cracked, and then he grinned, in a familiar lopsided Weasleyish sort of way.

"It was a _little_ funny," he admitted. "But don't let Mum hear you talk like that."

"I haven't completely lost my mind, dear brother," said George to reassure him.

* * *

><p>Partly because he wanted to see his sister, and partly to make an appearance to his mother to help ease her anxiety, George went to King's Cross when the Hogwarts Express finally deposited its students during the third week of June. He met his parents at the platform, and would return to the shop as soon as his family were on their way.<p>

He watched Ginny depart the train, her eyes darting around for familiar faces, with Luna and Neville on her heels. Neville's grandmother was upon him almost instantly, and Mr. Lovegood wasn't far behind to claim Luna. Ginny bid fond farewells to her friends with long hugs and promises to write and visit.

George met Ginny with an embrace as soon as her friends had gone. "So good to see you, Gin," he said into her hair, squeezing her tight.

Ginny reciprocated her brother's hug before pulling away and taking a good look at him. "Good to see you, too," she said with a smile. "You look well."

George wrapped an arm around her shoulder as they went in search of her luggage. "I am," he said. "Getting better, anyway. Gonna open the shop soon – Lee's coming in a week or so."

"That's great – maybe I can help, too. If Mum'll let me go." Ginny found her trunk then, and she and George loaded it onto a luggage cart. George stopped her from pushing it toward their mother.

"Just a moment, if you please," he said playfully. "I'm not done with you yet."

She laughed at him, waving at her mother and father. "I suppose I can suffer your presence a moment longer," she replied with mock aggravation. "What is it?"

"I see you flicking your eyes round, Miss Weasley – I know who you want to see and he doesn't have red hair."

A blush flooded up Ginny's neck and across her cheeks. "And?"

"And I just wanted to tell you that you won't see him here," said George. Her face instantly fell, and then picked itself back up in a fit of irritation.

"And why not?" she snapped, crossing her arms.

"He's behind Mum and Dad, under his cloak. Got mobbed when they got here. He'll be able to take it off once we leave the platform and are amongst all the Muggles."

Ginny bit her lip. "D'you think he'll ever be able to go out in public again?"

"Sure – it's just too soon, and he needs to get used to it. Although, he mentioned something about having an unpleasant encounter at the Ministry the other day . . . he probably doesn't want another of those."

She let out a breath, disappointed. She had so looked forward to seeing him on the platform. "It's not a big deal," she said, mostly to herself. "Are you going to come home and have supper with us?"

"I can't," he replied apologetically. "Charlie and I have a lot to do. But we'll be home on Sunday for supper, just like always."

That made Ginny smile. "Excellent. Thanks for your letters, by the way – they helped keep me sane."

"They helped keep _me_ sane," said George with a laugh. "As sane as a Weasley gets, anyway. Romania was good for that, too."

Ginny pushed her cart toward her parents, and she and George continued to talk about Romania as they waded through the many families that had gathered there. Her mother was the first to get to her, and had her smothered in a hug in short order; when Mrs. Weasley finally relinquished her, Mr. Weasley gave his daughter a brief but tight hug.

Harry watched this from under his invisibility cloak, leaning against a concrete pillar behind the Weasleys. The longing he felt the moment she stepped off the train surprised him; he knew he missed her, but didn't realize how much until he saw her, smiling at Luna and Mr. Lovegood, at Neville and Mrs. Longbottom, and then her animated expressions when talking to George. It took an enormous amount of willpower to stay under his cloak.

Once Ginny was with her parents it was even worse; he could smell her floral hair and could see her beautiful eyes. He was relieved, after a few moments' talk of the train journey and how all of Ginny's friends were, when Mrs. Weasley indicated that she needed to use the ladies' room. George volunteered to help Mr. Weasley to the car with Ginny's belongings, so Ginny was left alone for a precious few moments while she waited for her mother.

When her family had gone, Harry reached out and took hold of her wrist, causing her to jump. She'd known he was there, but wasn't sure whether he'd make his presence known or not. "Harry?" she whispered.

Not caring whether anyone would notice her sudden disappearance, he flung the cloak around her; she was petite enough for it to cover them both. Pressing her close to him with his left hand in the small of her back, he reached up with his right and stroked her cheek. "Hi, Ginny."

Her lovely eyes sparkling, she threw her arms around his neck and squeezed. And then, before he knew it, his back was against the concrete pillar and she was kissing him, holding his shoulders steady as though she thought he might vanish before her eyes. He was laughing when he finally managed to settle both hands on either side of her face, and then he returned her kisses, preferring a slow, steady rhythm to her frantic devouring of his lips.

"I missed you, too," he said, unbearably grateful that she was back in his arms.

She chuckled and wound her arms around his waist. They were nose-to-nose under the cloak, physically closer than they'd been in almost a year, and for Harry at least it was absolute bliss. He closed his eyes and rested his head on top of hers for a moment, greedily inhaling.

"People can hear you sniffing my hair," she whispered.

"That's a risk I'm willing to take."

She was quiet a moment longer, until she spotted her mother looking for her. Then she let out a breath. "Blimey, there she is. . . . I still haven't told her," she said. "I never told her anything, in fact . . . although, I think she sort of knew."

Harry lifted his head and stole one last lingering kiss from her. "Won't she approve?" he asked, knowing the answer.

"Of course she will. She'll be over the moon," said Ginny. "But sometimes a girl likes to tell her mum stuff."

He smiled at her. "C'mon – I hate being under this thing. I'd rather kiss you in front of people." After a last longing look, he made sure Mrs. Weasley wasn't looking and lifted the cloak to let Ginny out, and then followed her from the platform.

* * *

><p>That evening at supper Harry picked absently at Mrs. Weasley's Shepherd's pie. Ginny sat across from him at the table, and was hungrily eating her own dinner, which Mrs. Weasley had made because it was her daughter's favorite.<p>

"Didn't you eat on the train, dear?" asked Mrs. Weasley. "Surely Winky would have given you something to take along."

"I didn't have time to ask, even if I'd wanted to. Everyone was all weepy saying goodbye for the summer – which they usually are, but this year it was worse. I don't know why . . . finally felt normal again, packing up and getting out of school."

Harry looked up at Ginny with a smile. "One year left," he said, still picking at his food.

She met his eyes. "Eh. . . . What's to look forward to?" she asked, eyes glinting mischievously in an otherwise somber face. "The ministry won't be interfering . . . Snape's gone . . . Umbridge is gone . . . I can't imagine who McGonagall will get to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, but no one could be worse than Lockhart and he's still in St. Mungo's. Plus you burned down the Room of Requirement I opened the Chamber of Secrets. I expect it'll be downright boring."

"Disappointed?" asked Harry, lost in her eyes. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had fallen into a conversation between themselves, either too busy to notice, or purposely trying _not_ to notice, that Harry seemed more interested in Ginny than his dinner.

Ginny did not answer immediately, as Harry's unintentionally intense gaze had caught her a little off guard, and she wanted simply to bask in its glow. After a moment, she shook her head. "No, not really," she said quietly, then looked down at her now empty plate. "Anyway, Mum, no, I didn't eat on the train, but this was spectacular." She rose, taking her plate with her into the kitchen, kissing her mother's cheek as she passed. Harry rose and followed her.

He touched her shoulder as she stood at the sink. "Can we go outside and talk?" he asked, his voice low and gentle. She nodded, not daring to look at him, and then led the way.

Once out in the orchard, Harry and Ginny stood quietly looking at each other in full view of the house. His hands were in his pockets; hers were behind her back.

"I'm leaving in the morning for Grimmauld Place," he said.

The disappointment settled into her eyes quickly; a stab of guilt shot through him. "Do you have to go so soon? I just got back."

"I know," he said quietly. "And I'll miss you – terribly – but I think it's the right thing for me to do right now."

She tried not to sound whiney when she asked, "Why, Harry? It seems ridiculous for you to leave when I need you here."

Harry flushed, and when he spoke his voice was deep and low. "I think we need to discuss . . . needs."

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yes. I need you."

Now both eyebrows shot up. "Oh." He had never been quite so forward before.

Harry took a step toward her; she did the same toward him. "I need to go make a home for myself, Ginny. I can't stay here – I can't live here, under your parents' roof, and be your boyfriend. I love your family, but do you think for a second that your father wouldn't spend his days dreaming of all the various ways he could do me in if he thought I was taking advantage of you in his house?"

Ginny hoisted an eyebrow. "So that's your plan, then?" she asked. "You're going to take advantage of me?"

"If at all possible, yes," replied Harry unabashedly. "I any way I can, as many times as I can, in any place that I can . . . but not here."

"So you _do_ want to get back together."

He paused a beat. "Did I protest when you threw me against the wall at the train station?" he asked.

She blushed a little. "No. Sorry . . . that was kind of silly. I just had to be sure."

"I'm sorry if you were ever not sure," he replied. "Ginny . . . I need you and the only thing that's going to stop me is you."

Ginny grinned. "Well . . . far be it from me to deny The Chosen One anything," she teased.

He reached out for her face, stroking it gently with the tips of his fingers. "I just want to be close to you." His hand slid into her hair as she closed her eyes, and he effortlessly folded her into his arms where she fit so perfectly. Then their lips met, and suddenly he remembered what joy felt like as fireworks exploded behind his closed eyes. He did not let go when she ended their all too chaste kiss, but rested his forehead against hers.

"I missed that," he whispered.

"The snogging?"

"Yeah," he said, his left hand cradling her head as his right pulled her closer. "The snogging . . . the way your hair smells . . . the way you taste . . . the sounds you make."

She opened her eyes to find his still closed. "I missed it, too," she admitted. "My parents are probably watching us." Gently she rested her head on Harry's shoulder.

"Are we a secret?" he asked.

"No. Most likely they've already figured it out. We're right in front of the sitting room window and your hand is on my bum, plus you were openly ogling me at the dinner table."

Harry's lips curled upward and he slid his hand upwards. "I was ogling _you_? Try the other way round, Gin. It was _you_ who couldn't keep your eyes off _me_, I think."

"You flatter yourself, Mr. Potter. The only thing I couldn't take my eyes off of was my mum's pie, which was excellent." She took his hand and began walking toward the house. "Do my mum and dad know you're leaving?"

He nodded. "I told them the night Charlie and George left. I hadn't really decided until then."

"Will you still come home on Sundays for supper?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied, squeezing her hand. "I'll come every day, if you like. We can walk the orchard." He looked at the grass as he walked, and then a thought occurred to him. "Or . . . I could take you on a proper date."

She pulled herself closer to him, her smile deepening. "I'd like that, Harry."

"Where would you like to go?" he asked.

"Anywhere," she replied. "Oh – wait! Let _me_ take _you_ on a date. I have those Harpies tickets!"

He smiled at her enthusiasm, and at the prospect of watching his first Quidditch match in a very long time. "Brilliant," he replied, and then wrapped an arm about her shoulders to hold her as close as possible as they walked toward the house.

As they had suspected, Harry and Ginny had been watched from inside the house. When the young couple were out of view of the sitting room window, Mrs. Weasley turned her face up to her husband's.

Mr. Weasley smiled down on her. "No one better for her," he said, his voice quiet. "Not anywhere." His wife, silently, agreed.

* * *

><p>"'<em>In the meantime, the whereabouts of Britain's most eligible wizard, Harry Potter, remain unknown. It's rumored that he's hiding out in Devon, since little has been seen or heard of his friends the Weasleys since the Battle of Hogwarts, almost two months ago. We're also hearing whispers of a special kind of connection between The Boy Who Lived and the youngest Weasley, Ginerva-'<em>"

"Oi!"

"That's what it says! Ginerva – G-I-N-E-R-V-A."

"Bloody wankers. Go on."

"It's not as bad as Virginia, though."

"Go _on_, Potter!"

"There's no need to shout, Weasley. Ahem. . . . _'…and the youngest Weasley, Ginerrrrrva, but we suspect this may be a passing fancy. Some animosity has existed in the past between Ron Weasley and Mr. Potter over their lovely compatriot Hermione Granger, who according to sources is at present romantically involved with Weasley. The same source indicates that a fling with Ginerrrrrva may be The Chosen One's way of retaliating for his bruised heart.'_"

"What a _complete_ load of rubbish!" Hermione's face was bright pink as she fussily stirred sweetener into her tea.

"I know!" agreed Ginny as she turned back to her corn flakes. "My name's Gi_nev_ra, not Gi_ner_va. And it's _not_ bloody _Virginia_. Where _do_ these people get their information?"

Hermione and Ron had returned to England with her parents, who, despite all of Hermione's concerns, were more disappointed than angry with Hermione's decision to move them, unknowingly, to Australia. Harry thought the disappointment was probably worse for Hermione, but things seemed to be settling down. That morning, Ron was meeting with Gawain Robards about the Auror position he was offered, and would join his family again at the Burrow as soon as things there were in order.

Harry smiled over at Ginny and was glad – amused, even – to see that she wasn't ruffled by idle gossip from the _Daily Prophet_. "Hermione, you and I both know that if I _really_ wanted to retaliate for something, I'd fire a stinging jinx at your face." When Ginny laughed, Harry looked up at Hermione as he folded the paper and set it down. She was still blushing, but looked less annoyed. "I'm serious – that bloody hurt."

Her face turned into a pout. "But you know why I had to-"

"Yes," he replied quickly with a smile, sipping pumpkin juice. "It takes the sting out of the jinx."

"How are your parents, Hermione?" asked Ginny as her mother joined them at the table with a steaming cup of tea.

All traces of annoyance drained from her face as she replied, "Oh – they're well. My dad's re-opened the dental practice, and my mum'll join him when Arcelia is a bit older. They weren't happy about not being able to get the house back, but they've found a place that my mum's just in love with. Once they're all settled," she said to Mrs. Weasley, "they'd like to have you and Mr. Weasley round for dinner."

Mrs. Weasley smiled. "That sounds lovely," she said. "It'll be wonderful to see your parents again, and I can't wait to meet your baby sister."

"It'll be fun to return the favor," said Ginny mischievously. "The stories we could tell about Ron. . . . Just think of it! Best make sure George is available, Mum."

"Oh, don't you go teasing Ron when he's not even here. Pass me the paper, won't you?"

As her mother commenced perusing the paper, Ginny finished her corn flakes and took her bowl to the sink, and then settled next to Harry again. She took his hand under the table and started to ask what he wanted to do that day when her mother's outburst startled her.

"Have you _seen_. This. _Cods_wallop?" stormed the matriarch, looking up at Harry.

"Yes," he ventured. "But don't worry, Mrs. Weasley – I'll write to them and ask that they print a correction of Ginny's name tomorrow."

"That's not what I meant – although honestly, if you're going to spread rumors about someone you should at least have the decency to spell her name correctly." She stabbed at the paper with her index finger. "I'm talking about this animosity business – this – this – _retaliation_ business. How dare they print such _tripe_ about my _children_?"

Harry and Hermione shared a pleased smile across the table as Mrs. Weasley went back to being outraged at the tripe printed in the _Daily Prophet_. He wrapped his hand around Ginny's again, and leaned in. "Have you talked to her about us?" he whispered.

Ginny smiled wickedly. "I can clear up any lingering confusion on her part right now, if you like."

Mrs. Weasley turned the page. "I am fully aware of the _special_ connection between the Boy Who Lived and the youngest Weasley," she advised them, her eyes fixed on the paper. "Even if I hadn't just read about it in the paper, I'm not a _complete_ dolt." She set the paper down then, and met both sets of eyes, the green ones and the brown ones that matched her own. "The two of you – no," she interrupted herself, turning to look at Hermione, "the _four_ of you – you're all _so_ young. You've all been through _so_ much and you all have _so_ much time to do _so_ many wonderful things. There's no need to rush anything."

Ginny giggled at her mother. "We're not rushing, Mum," she replied. "Besides, the paper has it backward. It's _Harry_ who's a fling, until _I_ find someone better."

Mrs. Weasley looked up in mock irritation at her daughter, but returned to her paper. "Mind yourself, Ginerva," she said with a grin.

The youngest Weasley laughed at her mother and then took Harry's hand. "Quidditch, Potter," she demanded, and he willingly followed.

* * *

><p>Thanks so much for all the reviews and adds, and sorry this came later than I'd hoped. I hope you all continue to enjoy it!<p> 


	9. Chapter 9

Hi! Sorry for the long break - I didn't anticipate getting writer's block on something that's been stuck in my head so long. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

><p>The following Sunday all of the Weasleys, as well as Harry and Hermione, gathered at the Burrow for dinner. They hadn't been apart for too long, but in light of their recent loss, any gathering seemed something of a celebration.<p>

Mrs. Weasley had outdone herself, and the table was heaped with everyone's favorites. She knew, of course, that anything she made, her children would eat and praise her for, but she truly did love to cook. It was one of her favorite ways to show her family how much she loved them.

About half way through dinner, when Percy was boring everyone with a detailed report on the state of Ministry offices, a Ministry owl perched in an open window and waited patiently to be tended.

"I'll get it," offered Percy, rising officiously. Ron rolled his eyes and mumbled under his breath as he ate another too-big bite of chicken. Everyone smiled covertly at each other, cherishing the every-day moment, except for Hermione, who scowled at his manners.

"Oh," said Percy, once he'd sent the owl on its way, surprise evident in his voice. "Harry, it's for you."

Harry turned to accept the rolled-up parchment from Percy, who returned to his seat. Carefully, he removed the twine holding the letter closed, and read.

_Dear Harry,_

_Below is the Muggle postal address for the Dursleys at their temporary residence in Wales. I'm told this is all you need to find them the Muggle way, which of course you'll need to do since they are Muggles. Hestia Jones was injured in the Battle of Hogwarts and is on leave, but told me she'd be happy to assist if you need help finding them; the house belongs to her family._

_Vernon and Petunia Dursley_  
><em>422 Penamser Rd.<em>  
><em>Porthmadog, LL49 9NX<em>  
><em>North Wales, UK<em>

_I confess I quite forgot that I had assigned this task to you; my apologies. Remember to be cautious of when and where you use magic – your own relatives understand, of course, but they are living in a Muggle village. Please file an official report upon your return. Williams will help you sort that out. If you can take care of this within a week, that would be best. Hestia's sister and her family would like to take up residence of their home again._

_Please convey the best wishes of the Auror Department and the Ministry of Magic to your relatives._

_Sincerely,_

_Gawain Robards_

Harry emitted an unpleasant sound from the back of his throat.

"What is it, mate?" asked Ron.

Resigned to his fate, Harry heaved a heavy sigh. "It's from Robards. I have to go to Wales to retrieve a walrus."

Ginny made a face. "You have to do _what_?"

"Go to Wales," Harry replied, turning to Ginny. "Tell the Dursleys they can go back to their house on Privet Drive. I was hoping Robards had forgotten about it, but he didn't. Turns out he just forgot to send me the details. Now I have them, and I have to go."

"When?" asked Hermione, sitting across from Harry.

"He'd like it wrapped up within a week," said Harry, his shoulders drooping. He set the letter aside then, and decided to focus on his mashed potatoes instead. Mashed potatoes were much more pleasant a thought than Dursleys . . . especially Mrs. Weasley's mashed potatoes, which were rich and buttery and had little bits of green mixed in.

"I'll go with you," offered Ron. "At least that way you'll have someone normal to talk to."

Harry grinned and looked up from his plate. "Thanks, Ron," he replied. "Let's go Wednesday . . . maybe Thursday."

Ron nodded in agreement, and then his mother spoke up. "You know, Harry . . . their house has been left vacant all this time. I'd be happy to go ahead of you . . . do a little dusting and scrubbing, make the place presentable. Maybe bake a little something to make it welcoming. Ginny and I have never met your aunt and uncle, you know."

Ginny's head popped up in surprise at the mention of her name; it was true, she hadn't met the Dursleys, but based on everything she had ever heard of them from either Harry or Ron, she didn't want to, and she also didn't want to be volunteered for housecleaning. Not when there was so much Quidditch to be played. So much snogging to do. So much to catch up on with Percy . . . and homework. Loads and loads of homework. And she was sure the garden would need to be de-gnomed soon.

Harry caught her expression and tried to let Mrs. Weasley down gently. "Well . . . that's really nice of you, Mrs. Weasley, but . . . erm . . . Petunia, she's particular about certain things. I'd hate for you to do all that work, only for her to re-do it when you leave. And you know, Vernon's probably on a diet-"

"I think that's a wonderful idea, Molly," said Mr. Weasley, who patted his wife's hand with a smile. She smiled back at him, and then turned her face to respond to something Fleur had said. Her husband took the opportunity to shoot a look at Harry and Ginny which surprised both of them, but its meaning was unmistakable: _Don't argue._

"So Thursday, then?" asked Mrs. Weasley when she was done with Fleur. Her eyebrows were raised in expectation.

Harry looked across the table at Ron, a little helplessly. "Erm . . . yeah. Yeah, Thursday. Right, Ron?"

Ron looked from Harry, to his mother, to his father, and back to Harry. "Yeah. Sure." Mr. Weasley shot an apologetic look toward their end of the table, and then went back to his dinner.

Following the meal, Ginny begged her brothers for Quidditch. Although there were some rumblings about being too heavy to fly after such a big meal, all but Percy agreed to play.

Hermione and Fleur were setting out to find a place in the orchard to watch with glasses of cold tea while Ron, Harry, and Ginny went to the broom shed.

"Since when are they so chummy?" asked Ginny, taking her favorite broom.

"They'll probably be in-laws soon," Harry replied with a grin, glancing at Ron. "Better get to know one another sooner rather than later."

"Oh, not you too," complained Ron. "You should've heard Mum when I got back from Australia. She went on and on about expectations and commitments and _protection_ and a hundred other words I did not need to hear come out of my mother's mouth."

Harry grinned. "Did she give you a birds-and-bees speech?"

Ron just rolled his eyes while Ginny laughed at him. "It was horrible. I mean, I'm eighteen, for Merlin's sake. Does she really think I don't know where babies come from?"

"Might've," said Ginny with a laugh.

"Don't get too smug, Miss Weasley – wait till she gets her hands on you," said Ron, pulling a broom from the shed. He turned to walk toward the orchard.

"What makes you think she hasn't already?" Ginny shot back.

Ron stopped and turned around, eyeing Ginny and then Harry. "Now why would she have reason to do that?"

"Don't look at Harry like that, you great ape," said Ginny. "Unless you want me to repeat everything she told me – which was during my second year at Hogwarts – just take your broom and stroll off gloomily, if you please."

Ron eyed them both again, but turned around. Instead of proceeding to the orchard, however, he was met with his father.

"Sorry about earlier," he said, "but listen." He allowed Ron, Harry, and Ginny to draw nearer to him, and then spoke again in a lower voice. "You mum needs out of the house," he said plaintively. "Somewhere that won't remind her of Fred or the war, or make her fret over Charlie leaving. She's been cooking this up for a while – please, just let her do this. I know your aunt and uncle aren't very . . . receptive of magic, Harry, but you really wouldn't have to stay long, once you returned them home."

Harry turned to Ron and Ginny. "What do you think?"

Ron agreed immediately; Ginny didn't look convinced. "I've still got the trace," she reminded her father. "I won't be able to use magic to clean, which I don't mind at home. But this is for people I don't know and am not inclined to like."

"I'm sure Mummy will cover you where she can," assured Mr. Weasley. "And really, it isn't for the Dursleys. It's for your mum."

"Fine," pouted Ginny. The scowl she produced as she crossed her arms, the broom tucked safely under them, made Harry want to kiss her ruffled brow smooth. His expression must have been much too telling, however, because the next thing he noticed was Mr. Weasley and Ron both looking at him intently. He immediately straightened his features and looked elsewhere.

"Are we playing Quidditch or not?" Ginny, still irritated, stormed off toward the orchard. Ron and Harry made to follow, but had only gotten a few feet away when Mr. Weasley stopped them.

"One moment, Harry – I'd like a word."

Ron and Harry turned to each other, the redhead grinning. "We can compare notes later," he offered. "See if Mum and Dad know the same things."

"I don't think that's the kind of wisdom he wants to impart," replied Harry. "But thanks."

"Tweet-tweet, buzz-buzz," said Ron, in a taunting voice. Louder, as his friend walked away, he said, "See you in the air, Potter!"

Harry looked behind him with an embarrassed smirk, and then approached Mr. Weasley.

"Sir?"

Mr. Weasley drew a breath before he began. "Harry . . . Molly wanted me to talk to you about . . . well, how do I put this . . . some delicate matters. Considering you . . . didn't grow up with your dad, she's concerned that you might have . . . questions that you'd be uncomfortable asking me. Considering, you know, your relationship with Ginny."

Harry really didn't know what to say, so he settled on, "I see."

Mr. Weasley looked away for a moment. "So . . . do you have any questions you've been wanting to ask someone?"

"Erm . . . well . . . no. No, I don't think so," replied the younger man. Even if Harry did, he wouldn't have admitted it to Ginny's father. To do so would have implied that he'd thought about anything beyond kissing Ginny. Which of course he had, but those were the kind of thoughts Harry felt it best to remain in his head.

"Good," replied Mr. Weasley, who seemed relieved. "Good. There was just one other thing I wanted to talk about, Harry."

"Yes?"

Here he met Harry's eyes. "Ginevra is my only daughter," he said, his tone low. "Daughters, you may realize one day, are infinitely precious to their fathers." He paused a moment. "Especially a daughter like Ginny. I imagine some of the things that I admire about her as my daughter are the same things you admire about her."

Now Harry became uncomfortable. "Mr. Weasley," he began, "Ginny's very important to me."

The older man smiled. "I know. I know that," he said gently. "If ever I had faith in anyone, Harry Potter, I have faith in you. See to it that wherever my Ginny is concerned, that faith is not misplaced."

"You have my word, Mr. Weasley."

Mr. Weasley smiled and clapped Harry on the back, turning him toward the orchard. "You're a good man, Harry," he said, his tone crisp again. "Now, let's see if you can catch that snitch before Bill does."

Harry smiled at him, and then trotted forward to join Ron and Ginny in the orchard.

* * *

><p>Magic, as it turned out, was a lot of work. Harry spent the next few days going back and forth to the Ministry, trying to get things in order for the Dursleys' return to Little Whinging. Their neighbors there would need to know to expect them, with which Mrs. Figg was happy to assist. Their neighbors in Porthmadog would also need to anticipate their departure. He had begun by writing a letter to Petunia, which was perhaps the most painful task he'd undertaken.<p>

_Dear Aunt Petunia,_ began one, _You'll be pleased, in principle, to know that I survived the war. I'm an Auror now; that's sort of like a magic policeman. I'm writing to let you know that I'm coming to get you on Thursday. You don't have a choice of whether to go, so it's best you begin packing now._

_Dear Petunia,_ he tried again, _Voldemort is dead now, at the expense of many lives you consider beneath you, so you can go back home._

Finally, he decided on short and simple.

_Dear Mrs. Dursley,_

_The threat that necessitated your move from Surrey to Wales has now expired, and your home in Little Whinging has been examined and determined to be safe. As representatives of the Auror Department of the Ministry of Magic, Ron Weasley and I will be arriving on Thursday morning to escort you home._

_The details have all been settled. You only need to pack._

_Sincerely,_

_Harry Potter  
><em>_Auror_

He sent the letter with Minerva, warning her that the Dursleys might not be very friendly. She returned miffed, but eventually accepted the treat of apology he had offered.

On Thursday at the appointed time, he and Ron Apparated to a field a little less than a mile from the cottage that had been inhabited by the Dursleys for the past year. Harry suddenly realized he was grateful that another full-fledged Auror hadn't had to accompany him; most of them could dress like Muggles for the most part, but struggled sometimes, and Petunia would be less unpleasant if she couldn't find anything wrong with their appearance.

"You're quiet," observed Ron as they walked.

"Just thinking," replied Harry. "Hope she won't be too . . . you know. Dursleyish. Especially to your family."

"You worry too much," said Ron. "Mum and Ginny will be all right, no matter how she reacts. Besides – Mum's made an apple pie. If your uncle gets to be too much, you can just set him down in front of it with a fork."

Harry chuckled. "I hope it's as simple as that," he said.

"Well, she can't do much with Mum there, can she?" asked Ron. "I mean, she _could_ be rude, I suppose."

"_Will_ be rude," Harry corrected. "It's kind of in her nature when it comes to my lot."

"_Your lot_?" Ron stopped. "What's that mean?"

Harry's cheeks burned. "Well . . . that's just what they call me. Us. Whatever." He started walking again, embarrassed. "Wizards. Magic people."

"_That's what they call us_?" asked Ron, catching up. "Just like that?"

"With more contempt, but yeah."

Ron stopped walking again. "Harry."

A few steps away, Harry stopped and turned. "What?"

"This has always bothered me, mate. You just accept that. Like . . . like it's not disrespectful. Like it's all right."

Harry sighed and then walked the few steps to his best friend. "Well . . . what else can I do? That's a wound that runs pretty deep. . . . My grandparents' fault I suppose, for finding Mum so great while Petunia was just . . . Petunia."

"Says _Petunia_."

Harry nodded. "I know. But look, Ron . . . the only way they would have accepted me would have been if I were born without magic. And even then . . . probably not."

Ron shook his head. "It's not right. They're your family."

Harry mimicked his friend. "Not really. Besides . . . I have _you_ lot," he said with a smile. "All you Weasleys. . . . what more could I possibly need? I'd rather be one of _you_ than one of _them_."

Ron smiled and chuckled a little. "Yeah, all right. Doesn't make it okay . . . but all right."

The two continued walking and fell into companionable silence for a moment or two, and then Ron spoke again. "Makes me pretty grateful, actually . . . you know, Hermione's family could've been the same way. Or scared of her – when Bill started Hogwarts he had a Muggle-born friend who stayed with us during the summer because his parents were terrified of him. Took Dad months to get them to come round."

"They just abandoned him?"

"Not really. I think they wrote letters – I was quite small at the time, so I don't really remember. I think all's well there now, but can you imagine being eleven and knowing your parents are afraid of you for something you can't control?"

Harry thought it wasn't much different from his situation with the Dursleys, but said nothing. Luckily Ron continued talking.

"But the Grangers . . . they're all right, you know? A little timid, I think, around all of us, but I don't think that's because of magic."

"It's because there's so _many_ of you," said Harry with a laugh. And then, because he knew he should, he asked the question he didn't want much of an answer to. "Anyway . . . talking of Hermione . . . how are things going? You know . . . with your . . . relationship?"

Ron smiled and looked steadily at the ground as he walked. "It's good," he replied. He lifted his head to find Harry's eyes trained in the same direction his own had been. "D'you want me to go into details?" he offered with a grin.

"No," replied Harry quickly. "Just wondering . . . you know. If I should get used to it."

"Yeah," said Ron. "You should."

Harry smiled and looked up at Ron. "I'm happy for you."

Ron met his eyes and smirked. "And I suppose I'm supposed to follow that up with the same about you and Ginny?"

Harry blushed, but he wouldn't turn away from Ron. "It would be nice."

Ron stopped walking again, and Harry turned to face him. "Would it really matter if I said I wasn't all right with the whole thing?" asked Ron.

"Of course it would matter," replied Harry. "It would matter a lot. Would I break up with her because you didn't approve? Not on your life. First of all, I'd be terrified of what Ginny would do to me, and secondly . . . you don't walk away from someone like Ginny. Not two times. And I never said I was the smartest bloke ever, but honestly . . . I'm not that stupid."

"So," said Ron, more than a little uncomfortable. "I should get used to it."

"You should."

Ron nodded and looked away a moment. "All right," he said. Then he looked at Harry and chuckled. "You know what, Harry?"

"What?"

"I like you for Ginny. Always have. And now that you're not being hunted by a psychopath, even better." He smiled.

Harry smiled back, and they continued walking in companionable silence for another few minutes. The following few minutes had Harry and Ron consulting the map they'd drawn on a piece of parchment for directions, and before Harry knew it, he was standing in front of the Dursleys' temporary residence. He sighed and stared at the house for a long moment.

"There's nothing for it," said Ron. "Best to just get it over with as quick as you can."

"Right," said Harry, not really believing Ron's words but grateful for them anyway. If nothing else, they served to remind him that he wasn't alone. He climbed the few steps to the door, took a deep breath, and knocked.

Petunia answered a moment later, her plastic smile fading when she saw her nephew.

"Hello, Petunia," said Harry.

She said nothing for a long moment, and then flinched, as though she had been poked. Then she glanced stealthily around the neighborhood, and ushered the two wizards inside quickly.

She pointed to the sitting room and then locked the front door before she joined them there. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.

"I thought we were done with you intruding on our lives," she snapped, her voice as resentful as he remembered.

Harry sighed. "I take it you disregarded my letter," he said.

"What do you want?"

Harry quirked an eyebrow, and gestured to Ron. "This is Ron Weasley," he said. "You might remember him from a few years ago when his family destroyed your fireplace."

This only served to make Petunia go pale with anger, but it was fleeting. She glanced at Ron, who had held out his hand, but did not accept the gesture of greeting.

"It's nice to see you again," said Ron cordially, putting his hand awkwardly in his pocket.

Harry wondered why his friend had bothered to try, but just turned back to Petunia. "Did you get my letter or not?"

"Yes, I got your letter," she spat, "from that absolutely filthy bird. Came right in the window and perched on my countertop as though it belonged there. Dudley tried to feed it and I couldn't shoo it away until I took the letter off its leg."

Harry nodded. "Yes . . . she's trained to do that, Minerva. And she's quite clean, actually."

Petunia narrowed her eyes at Harry and then looked away, her lips pinched together.

"As my letter said," continued Harry, the back of his neck prickling in irritation, "your house in Little Whinging is safe to return to. The Ministry sent me to escort you home. Vernon will be here in just a few minutes," said Harry. "Dudley too. Have you packed, at all?"

Petunia looked back at her nephew. "We're not going. You forced us to move and now we've made a home here. You can't force us to move again."

"Unfortunately," replied Harry slowly, "you haven't got a choice in the matter. This house belongs to a Wizarding family and they'd like to move back in."

Petunia's mouth fell open and she narrowed her eyes again. "You people are _dangerous_," she whispered. Harry could tell she was genuinely angry, and a very tiny sliver of him felt she had the right to be. "You just . . . _intrude_ like this, just as you please, without a single thought for anyone except yourselves."

"Actually, I believe Auror Jones _was_ thinking of your well-being when she let you use her house," said Ron. "Considering your alternative was a slow, painful death at the hands of Death Eaters."

Petunia was about to open her pinched mouth to make a retort when Dudley burst in through the front door. "Mum, why's the door locked?" He stopped when he saw Harry standing in the living room.

"Hello," said Harry.

Dudley stared at his cousin a moment, and then smiled. "You're alive."

"Sorry," said Harry, a smirk on his lips.

"Does this mean . . . that man who was trying to kill you off. . . ?"

"Dead," said Harry.

"You killed him?"

Harry's head bobbled a moment. "Well . . . technically, he killed himself."

Dudley's face went blank and he scowled. "What's that mean, technically?"

Harry cleared his throat, not wanting to explain basic magic at the moment. "I deflected his curse. Really, _really_ long story."

Petunia had had enough talk of magic then, and interrupted their conversation with, "What are you doing home, Dudders? I thought your class didn't let out until one o'clock."

"Doesn't," said Dudley, turning to his mother. "But there was an explosion in the chem lab and they had to clear the building."

With a pinched mouth and narrowed eyes, Petunia turned to Harry and Ron. "Machinations of _your_ lot, I imagine," she snapped.

"Simple mixture of armadillo bile, butober puss, and fluxweed," replied Ron, sounding bored. "Harmless, but makes a lot of noise."

"Brilliant," said Dudley. "I got out of an exam."

Vernon chose that moment to come bustling in the door, his bloated face bright with excitement. "I have wonderful news, Petunia my. . . ."

His briefcase landed on the floor, as did his keys, and for a second, his face went ghostly white. But soon enough, his eyes began to narrow, and his lips turned into a growl and Ron watched in astonishment as his complexion began to mimic an eggplant.

"WHAT IN THE NAME OF EVERYTHING NORMAL ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?"

Harry had never believed he deserved the way that his relatives treated him, although it had been a long time since he'd accepted it. It was the only thing to do, really; he couldn't change them and they couldn't change him. But he was beginning to get annoyed.

"As the letter which my owl delivered to you on Monday morning stated, your house on Privet Drive is safe to return to." Ron thought his friend's tone and words were remarkably clear and controlled, considering how they'd been received. "I'd hoped you would be packed by now, but it's become pretty apparent that you're not ready."

"_Packed_?" roared Vernon. "Packed? You just expect us to up and leave at the snap of your fingers, do you?"

Harry sighed and cleared his throat. "I did write you a letter."

"Listen, boy-"

"His name's Harry," snapped Ron, and if Harry wasn't mistaken there was a bit of a threat in his voice. Vernon chose to ignore it.

"Don't you ruddy tell _me_ what his name is, ginger!"

"His name's Ron," said Harry.

Vernon stopped and stared a Harry for a long moment. And then Ron spoke again, fascinated.

"Bloody hell. He does turn purple, doesn't he?"

Her husband's continued silence caused Petunia to fuss. "Dudders, go and get Daddy a burbon. Quickly!" She moved to stand in front of Vernon as Dudley scurried off. "Darling? Say something, please, won't you?"

"I WANT THEM OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

"We'll get them out, darling-"

"No, you bloody _won't_!" This time it was Ron yelling, with his wand out, and he surprised even Harry. "Listen to me, 'cause I'm only going to say this one time, right. This _isn't_ your house; its Hestia Jones's. She was kind enough to let you stay here so you could continue to live, although in my opinion the world might be better off if some Death Eaters had got their hands on _you_ lot. Voldemort's dead, and most of his friends are either dead or in prison, so it's time for you to leave, and no one's asking for an elaborate thank-you party, but for Merlin's sake the _least_ you could do is get your things and get the bloody hell out of here so she can have her house back. Now, all three of you, get upstairs and pack or I _swear_ to _Merlin_ I will hex. You. All!"

Harry stared at Ron a moment, while his bright pink face returned to its normal color and his seething settled. And then, to his astonishment, the Dursleys all turned and scuttled up the stairs. Once they were out of earshot, Ron turned to Harry.

"What?"

Harry's face split in two with an enormous grin. "Nothing," he said with a chuckle. "It's just . . . you sounded an awful lot like your mum just then."

Ron's face went back to pink. "Shut up, Harry."


	10. Chapter 10

Hi! Sorry this has been so long in coming... It's a bit shorter than usual, but I hope not unwelcome. Big thanks to Shiyu Q for her beta work on this!

* * *

><p><em>From Chapter 9:<em>

_Her husband's continued silence caused Petunia to go into a fuss. "Dudders, go and get Daddy a burbon. Quickly!" She moved to stand in front of Vernon as Dudley scurried off. "Darling? Say something, please, won't you?"_

_"I WANT THEM OUT OF MY HOUSE!"_

_"We'll get them out, darling-"_

_"No, you bloody won't!" This time it was Ron yelling, with his wand out, and he surprised even Harry. "Listen to me, 'cause I'm only going to say this one time, right. This isn't your house; its Hestia Jones's. She was kind enough to let you stay here so you could continue to live, although in my opinion the world might be better off if some Death Eaters had got their hands on you lot. Voldemort's dead, and most of his friends are either dead or in prison, so it's time for you to leave, and no one's asking for an elaborate thank-you party, but for Merlin's sake the least you could do is get your things and get the bloody hell out of here so she can have her house back. Now, all three of you, get upstairs and pack or I swear to Merlin I will hex. You. All!"_

_Harry stared at Ron a moment, while his bright pink face returned to its normal color and his seething settled. And then, to his astonishment, the Dursleys all turned and scuttled up the stairs. Once they were out of earshot, Ron turned to Harry._

_"What?"_

_Harry's face split in two with an enormous grin. "Nothing," he said with a chuckle. "It's just . . . you sounded an awful lot like your mum just then."_

_Ron's face went back to pink. "Shut up, Harry."_

* * *

><p>Harry and Ron had tried to help them pack, but only Dudley welcomed the help. The drive from Porthmadog to Surrey was bound to be a torturous one. Dudley, who was actually quite happy to return to the house he grew up in, chose to drive himself in the car his parents had just purchased in honor of his 18th birthday.<p>

Petunia fussed over him as he packed his belongings into the car. Once everything was in place, he turned to Harry.

"What about school?" he asked. Dudley, to Harry's great surprise, would finish his A-Levels and would be attending university in the fall. "Shouldn't they know? I mean . . . graduation and all."

"They already know," Harry assured him. "The office got a letter yesterday afternoon explaining that your father was promoted, which necessitated a hasty move. You have plenty to graduate on."

Dudley turned to Vernon with a grin. "Another promotion? Excellent!"

Vernon sneered at his nephew. "Yes, well . . . just as the first promotion that brought me here, the promotion that will bring me back isn't actually a promotion, is it? It's all string-pulling and lies, isn't it?"

These words, as well as the tone with which Vernon said them, got right up under Harry's skin. "String-pulling and lies are for Muggles," he spat. "But yes, basically – both promotions were fabricated, which I'll grant you is a bit dishonest, except the thing is, Vernon, you're not dead, so stop complaining."

Vernon all but snarled at Harry again, but moved toward Dudley, giving last-minute instructions to make sure the tank was full and to check the oil.

Meanwhile, Ron stood admiring Dudley's car. While Vernon and Dudley were talking, and Petunia began fussing again, Ron nudged his friend.

"Hey, Harry . . . how much d'you think one of these goes for?"

Harry shrugged. "Dunno. Cars are expensive though. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I was thinking – we kind of destroyed the Ford Anglia . . ."

"You want to replace it?"

"I think so. I mean, I always thought with my first paycheck I'd do something nice for my mum, but she's just about impossible to shop for. So, I thought – why not do something for Dad?"

"We'll have to check into it. Especially if you want to get him something that he can make fly."

"Well . . . that wouldn't be the _intent_, of course, Harry," said Ron with a knowing grin. "He might just need a car. For ministry business, of course."

"Of course," replied Harry, smiling back.

Vernon had done with Dudley then, and as the younger Dursley was getting into his car with Petunia fussing and kissing and waving, the eldest turned his beady eyes upon the two wizards in his driveway.

"You don't need to tag along, _boy_," snarled Vernon. "We're perfectly capable of driving ourselves."

Harry sighed. "I was told to escort you," he replied. "I want to ride five hours in a car with you about as much as you want me to, but I haven't got a choice. The sooner we get going, the sooner we'll be there, so . . . could we . . . ?" Harry made shoving gestures toward the car.

Vernon snarled again and turned to the car, mumbling as he crammed himself inside. Petunia sat herself primly in the passenger seat with her handbag on her lap. When the door was closed he turned to Harry, still standing in the driveway, and smiled as he made a show of locking the car doors.

Harry lifted an eyebrow. "Really?"

"What did he do?" asked Ron.

"He locked the doors," replied Harry, looking to his friend, who was on the passenger side of the car.

Ron twisted his face into a confused expression. "Harry, I know they're your family, but . . . these Muggles aren't very smart."

Harry shrugged. "I never said they were." They both discretely pointed their wands and muttered _Alohomorra_ at the car doors, and then seated themselves in the back seat of Vernon's car just as he turned around to back out of the driveway. With a scowl, and a threat against using magic in the car, they were off.

* * *

><p>Six bedraggling hours later – which included lengthy silences once Vernon declared that not only would there be no <em>use<em> of magic, he would have no _discussion_ of it either, two stops for the bathroom, two for tea, a grumbling Ron when Petunia shrieked at and banished the Wizard's chess board, and a prolonged roadside break during which Petunia declared she "just needed some air," Vernon pulled up to Number Four Privet Drive, just behind Dudley. Harry smiled because he knew Ginny was inside, but was otherwise not looking forward to the coming exchange between Petunia and Mrs. Weasley.

Vernon caught his look and mistook it for wistfulness. "I don't know what you're staring at, boy. It's not as though you're welcome back."

"It's not as though I want to come back, is it?" snapped Harry, before he could check himself. Then he got out of the car and headed for the door, only to stop in horror at the banner hanging above it.

_Welcome home, Mangy Muggles!_ it read, in cheerful, suspiciously George-like script, in proud Gryffindor colors.

Harry stared at it, and then removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Dudley?"

"Yeah?"

"What's that banner say?"

Dudley crumpled up his face. "Can't you read?"

"Glasses are a bit wonky," said Harry. "What's it say?"

"_Welcome Home Dursleys_," replied Dudley. "Are you all right?"

Nodding while he continued to rub his eyes, Harry replied, "Yeah, fine. Just . . . you know. The glasses." Dudley nodded and moved on, bringing two suitcases to the door.

Vernon eyed the banner and turned to Harry. "What's this about?" he grumbled.

"Ron's family wanted to help welcome you home," said Harry.

"Mum made you an apple pie," said Ron, who could only smile at the thought of his mother's apple pie. "It's really excellent, Mum's pie – any kind, not just apple, but apple's the best."

Dudley looked interested, and even Vernon tilted his head, but Petunia's lips remained pinched.

Harry continued. "Mrs. Weasley and Ginny – Ron's sister – are inside."

"Right – well, that's all well and good, but I happen to clearly remember what went on the last time that so-called family invaded my house." Ron's ears turned purple and he leveled a warning look at Vernon, but the elder man showed no signs of having noticed. "You'll go inside, get them out, and then you can go on your merry way."

"Mrs. Weasley isn't all smiles and apple pies," said Harry. "Just go in, say hello, eat the pie, and we'll be gone. Okay? Five minutes. Then you'll never see me again, I promise."

Vernon was about to protest, but Ron had already opened the door. To his surprise, his father burst from the Dursley residence.

"Welcome home, Dursleys!" he cried, shaking Vernon's hand, and then Petunia's. "Welcome, welcome! I am so glad to see you! Come in, come in!"

Before Harry knew it he'd been shuffled inside and to the kitchen, where not only Ginny and Mrs. Weasley waited, but where Bill, George, and Charlie stood, anxiously awaiting an invitation to a slice of their mother's pie. Mrs. Weasley welcomed the Muggles, and the Dursleys all stood like statues, pressed against the cabinetry, and listened to her chatter on about her old recipes.

Harry had to give Mrs. Weasley credit; she had polished up the place quite nicely. It was as clean a kitchen as Harry had ever seen Petunia produce herself, although he knew Petunia wouldn't see it quite the same way. He smiled at Ginny, who looked tired but smiled warmly at him. He crossed the kitchen to envelop her hand in his and squeeze tightly, and then proceeded to lose himself in conversation with her.

Meanwhile Mrs. Weasley took her always-ravenous sons' hints, and offered her pie to the Dursleys. Petunia immediately declined, but Dudley accepted and his father, grudgingly, followed. Petunia faltered when asked for serving utensils and plates, but Mrs. Weasley assured her that everything in the cupboards had been washed and dried, and Dudley retrieved them. Petunia's face turned pale, but no one noticed.

"And don't worry," continued the redheaded witch, "we'll tidy up everything before we go on back home."

Harry, glancing over, thought he saw Petunia sway a little on her feet, but then Ginny tossed her hair gently off her shoulder, and his attention was once again arrested.

While the pie was being eaten, George and Bill amused Dudley by changing the color of the kitchen curtains and levitating the table. Vernon became rather cross with his son when Charlie handed his wand over and Dudley began to flick it uselessly. Ron and Charlie tried to stifle their laughter when it was pulled out of Dudley's hand and he was scolded like a toddler, but they were unsuccessful.

Soon enough Petunia had had more of witches and wizards than she was willing to take, and she risked contact with them by swooping over the little kitchen table and gathering up the used plates and forks. Then she took them to the sink, which she began to fill with hot, soapy water. While the water was running, she regarded the countertops, and reached under the sink to find the bleach.

Frustrated that it was not there, she stood and put her hands on her hips. Mr. Weasley, trying to be sensitive, approached. "Please, Mrs. Dursley – allow us to help. What can we get for you?"

"Bleach," she blurted, not knowing what else to do with all the chattering abnormal people in her kitchen. "It's in the cupboard under the stairs. Please get me the bleach."

Mr. Weasley nodded and left the kitchen, and Dudley, still redfaced from being scolded by his father, followed to help.

"This door," he said to the wizard, who was just in front of him. Mr. Weasley turned around and thanked him.

He opened the door, happy to be of assistance, and peered inside. He thought it odd that there was a cot there, but dismissed it as he turned to Dudley and asked, "Now. What is bleach?"

Dudley paused a moment, trying to formulate an answer. "It's, erm . . . it's a chemical Mum uses to clean. It's in a white bottle."

"Right." Mr. Weasley turned back to the cupboard, and ducked inside. To the left were crude shelves, with paint cans and brushes resting on them in an orderly fashion. To the right, the wall was bare, with the exception of a nail only partially driven into a stud, like a makeshift hook. He turned to the outer wall, thinking there may be more shelves, but all he saw were more studs.

The light was dim in the closet, so he withdrew his wand and lit it. He ducked his head to look for the white bottle on lower shelves, or on the floor, but as he moved, something on the wallboards above the door caught his eye.

It was writing. More particularly, it was familiar writing. He looked up again, pointing his wand.

_Harry's Room_, it said, in blue crayon. In what was unmistakably Harry Potter's own – albeit juvenile – handwriting.

Mr. Weasley tilted his head at Dudley, who was still standing there, pointing out the bleach bottle on the floor. "Why did Harry write 'Harry's Room' on the inside of this closet?"

"It was his room," said Dudley, simply. "Until he turned eleven, and we started getting all those letters, from that school? Dad was _raving_-"

A horrible lightbulb went off in Arthur Weasley's head, and he turned pale. Without saying another word to Dudley, he stormed into the kitchen.

In a flash of blue light, bat-bogeys surrounded Vernon Dursley's head, and he and his wife started screaming and trying to shoo them away. Vernon raced out the back door; Mrs. Weasley instructed Charlie to follow him while her husband stilled Petunia by leveling his wand at her.

Harry, not having seen anything until the bats engulfed his uncle, turned to Ginny-of-the-infamous-Bat-Bogey-Hex immediately, but Ginny didn't even have her wand in her hand. She was staring, open-mouthed, at her father. Harry's gaze, as well as everyone else's, shifted to Mr. Weasley.

"I don't know what you're all staring at," snapped the ordinarily congenial wizard when he noticed all of his children's, as well as his wife's, eyes upon him. "Where in Merlin's name do you think _she_ learned it?"

"Arthur, put your wand down and explain what is going on this instant!"

"The closet," replied Arthur, collecting himself and lowering his wand. "Harry slept in the closet."

Confused, Mrs. Weasley turned toward Harry, whose face was flushed, and who was approaching, trying to formulate something to say that would diffuse the situation. "Harry, why did you sleep in the closet?"

"Because it was his _room_, Molly," said Mr. Weasley. "Until he got his Hogwarts letter."

His wife's head swiveled sharply toward Petunia. "Well . . . Arthur . . . maybe that was the only place they had for him." Petunia's head bobbed up and down furiously.

"Molly, you and I raised seven children in a house with barely enough room for two, and did we ever put one of them in a closet?"

"Percy would've done well in a closet," said George, who silenced himself when his father shot him a withering gaze.

Mrs. Weasley seemed to consider this a moment, and then turned toward Petunia. "Did you really let him sleep in a closet?"

But she was saved from having to answer any of the Weasley's questions when Harry spoke up. "Mr. Weasley. . . . I think . . . I think they were just afraid," he said.

Mr. Weasley turned toward him, and stashed his wand. "Of a _child_, Harry?"

He shrugged. "I suppose. They didn't know what I'd do; what I was capable of. They just thought if-" Here he stopped short, trying to think of another phrase to use besides "squash the magic out" to describe what the Dursleys thought they were doing. "They just thought if I were – sheltered, I guess – then, the magic wouldn't. . . . You know. It wouldn't work. It would . . . go away, or something." This was not the first time Harry had questioned the logic of the Dursleys' actions. "I guess."

"Sheltered indeed," spat Mrs. Weasley, a scowl marring her usually soft features.

Charlie came in then, leading Vernon, who had one hand in Charlie's and the other one covering his eyes. "Just a step further . . . there. Now we're in the kitchen." He put his finger to his lips, wanting silence from his family. "Hello there, Mrs. Dursley – I'm afraid your husband met with an accident in the garage . . . bump on the old noggin, looks like. Got a himself a headache, but I think he just needs a bit of a lie-down."

Petunia rose shakily and spoke to her husband. "Vernon? Are you all right, darling?"

"Yes, I'm fine," he said loudly, keeping his eyes covered. "I'd just like to lie down, if you don't mind – won't be but a few minutes, I'm sure. The sun is _terribly_ bright just now. . . . I'm not quite sure what happened. . . ."

Charlie smiled and put Vernon's ham-hock hand into Petunia's birdlike one. "There you go – hope you feel well again soon!"

"Thank you, young man," said Vernon, and Petunia began to lead him away. He stopped at the kitchen door. "What did you say your name was?"

"It's Charlie," said Charlie, smiling. "Charlie Weasley."

"Weasley," mused Vernon a moment. "Upon my word, I think I knew a Weasley once."

"We're a handsome lot," declared Charlie, oblivious to his parents' scowls. Ron covered a snigger.

"Well, thank you again." He followed Petunia out of the kitchen.

When he was gone, Dudley spoke up. "Harry, I'm sorry I said anything."

Harry shrugged it off. "It's not a big deal, Dudley. But I think now's the best time to go. We'll still help you get everything out of the cars." Dudley nodded, and they all rose to go outside.

* * *

><p>Once they were done, Dudley settled his mother at the kitchen table with a hot cup of brandy-laced tea. He sat next to her and held her hand as she stared at the tabletop. Harry stood leaning against the counter, not sure what he should do or say. He could offer to Obliviate her, he supposed. He'd never performed the spell before, but Charlie seemed to have done all right with Vernon. But the likelihood that she wanted to be touched by an ounce of magic was pretty low.<p>

Mr. Weasley, his anger completely faded, came into the kitchen and shut the door. He stared hard at Petunia until Petunia looked up.

"I always knew Harry hated living here," he began quietly. "But to be perfectly frank . . . I'm sorry, Harry . . . I always thought it was teenage rebellion. I always thought . . . he must be angry that his parents are gone. He must not get on well with his uncle. I have six sons, and having been a young man myself, Mrs. Dursley . . . I know how unbearably stupid two men who don't get along can be."

Petunia, to Harry's surprise, said nothing as she listened to Mr. Weasley, and he wasn't entirely sure whether it was because she had some feeling of contrition or because she was simply petrified of the red-headed wizard.

Mr. Weasley's voice remained calm and firm. He smiled a little. "My wife had two brothers. Twins; Gideon and Fabian. They died by the same hand that killed your sister. She and I thought that the two of you shared something. You both lost your only siblings . . . and no matter if you were a Muggle and she was a witch. It was the same pain. And I knew that she understood that pain and Harry didn't; I knew that Harry's eyes were just like Lily's and maybe that made you keep your distance. And that, to a point, Molly and I could understand. And despite everything we have always given you the benefit of the doubt."

Mr. Weasley paused again. He sighed and looked around the kitchen, and then back at Petunia. "I can see, quite plainly, that I was wrong. I wish I could shame you for the way you treated Harry; I wish you could understand how wonderful he is. I wish I could convince you that there will come a time when you'll wish you'd been a family to him. I believe that, Mrs. Dursley; I believe all of those things. But you don't. And I would only be wasting my breath."

Petunia's lips pinched a moment as she processed these words, and she looked over at Dudley and then back up at Mr. Weasley. "I suppose," said Petunia, "even in . . . your society . . . there is some kind of legal recourse to be pursued?"

"Mum-"

Harry scowled and cut his cousin off. "_Legal recourse_? Are you _serious_?"

"Harry, it's fine," said Mr. Weasley, putting his hand on the younger man's arm. "Your aunt has every legal right to do that if she wishes. If you truly want to pursue that course of action," he said to Petunia, "I invite you to. But you should bear in mind that even in the best of times, those things are a minor offense at best, and that the Ministry has a lot to deal with at the moment – you may remember that we've just ended a war. A rather bloody one."

"I see. These kinds of attacks are just _acceptable_, then, in magical society." Petunia's shock had clearly worn off and she was being fortified by the brandy in the tea Dudley was trying to get her to sip more of.

"Mrs. Dursley, you're a grown woman. I know that what I did wasn't right, and I'm not proud of it. But if the kind of treatment that Harry, as a child, was subjected to because of his magic is acceptable in Muggle society, then I will thank Merlin, on my knees, every day, that my family and I are not a part of it." And without a word of goodbye, Mr. Weasley turned around and exited the kitchen.

Harry stared at the door for a moment after Mr. Weasley had gone. Then he turned to Petunia.

"You're right, Petunia," he said, standing up straight. "We _are_ dangerous. It's best you are the way you are."

Harry didn't mean it as an insult, not really, but he knew from the look on her face that it was taken as such. "You're done with me now – really. So . . . goodbye." He turned to Dudley and raised his hand in farewell. "See you around."

Dudley only nodded, and then Harry left the kitchen.

He joined the Weasleys on the front lawn. Ginny reached for his hand and he gave it willingly. Mr. Weasley smiled at him. "All right, Harry?"

Harry nodded. Then he looked over at Ginny, the ginger-haired girl holding his hand, and knew in that moment that she also held his heart.

* * *

><p>Thanks for continuing to read! Please leave a review, if you're so inclined!<p> 


	11. Chapter 11

Hello again!

The trouble with these after-Hogwarts stories is . . . where do you end them? I don't think this as much more left; a few more chapters at best. I will probably have a couple of relatively large time jumps in those chapters. Anyway, here is the next installment, and I hope you continue to like it. If you do, feel free to drop me a PM, or a review. Thanks!

* * *

><p>Harry followed the Weasleys to the Burrow, and upon arrival, thought a very long walk was in order. He felt exceptionally awkward about what had occurred in Little Whinging, and while he didn't want to go back home, he really didn't want to answer a lot of questions, either. Fortunately Ginny seemed to sense this and informed her mother that they'd be in the orchard if they were needed.<p>

Mrs. Weasley kissed Harry's head and set herself to making supper. Tears welled in the young man's eyes, for a moment.

Their walk was silent, for the most part. It was a beautiful summer day, and the orchard was in full bloom. They were deep in the thick trees before either of them spoke.

"So it was your dad," said Harry, clinging more possessively to Ginny's hand than he realized. He looked over at her and let a grin play with his lips.

She turned a confused face sideways at him for a moment. "That what?"

"Taught you that hex," he said, and let the grin take over.

She smiled back at him. "It was the first thing I ever learned," she said, almost proudly. "Out here in the orchard, actually. When I got my wand, on my eleventh birthday, we had breakfast and then I spent the entire day out here with him. He just let me hit him over and over again with the hex until he felt I'd got it right."

Harry laughed a little; it was easy to envision Arthur Weasley sacrificing his pride for one of his children.

"It was supposed to be a secret," continued Ginny, her eyes glinting a little with the memory of the mischief. "But then a few days later Percy got on my nerves – I don't even remember what he did – and I hexed him. Mum's never been so mad at me."

He laughed again, and then said, "I don't think I've ever seen your Dad lose his temper before – not even at Hogwarts."

Ginny's smile faded a little, and she looked forward through the trees. "There's little he can't tolerate," she said, and even her tone of voice had quieted. "_Very_ little."

The sigh that left Harry's lips was enough indication that he knew what she was referring to. "I never really thought much of it," he confessed. "The cupboard, I mean. Sleeping there . . . it's just how it was."

Ginny was silent for a long moment. "It wasn't right," she finally replied.

"I know."

"There was more." A challenge laced Ginny's words. "I know there was. I know they starved you."

He shrugged. "They withheld food. It's not really the same. I got _something_, always. Well. . . . Usually."

"No semantics, Harry, if you please." Ginny had stopped walking, and when Harry turned to face her he expected to see anger marring her pretty freckled face. He didn't.

"You don't look as angry as you sound," he observed.

"The abuse _does_ make me angry," she replied. "But it makes me sad that you still make excuses for it."

"They really were afraid of me, Gin."

"I know. I know a lot of Muggles are afraid, when they first discover magic. But . . . locking you in that cupboard, and then your room . . . not feeding you . . . not signing school permission forms. That wasn't done out of fear, Harry. That was done because they wanted to control you."

"People always try to control things they don't understand."

She was silent again, for a moment. "They should have tried to understand you," she whispered. "You're their nephew. Honestly, Harry . . . I don't know whether to be infuriated with you for excusing the whole thing as perfectly normal, or to marvel at the level of forgiveness you're capable of."

Harry just shrugged. "Anger at them isn't going to get me anywhere." A moment passed between them, her brown eyes focused on his green ones; Harry knew she was trying to decide her next move. He closed the small gap between them and put his hand to her soft cheek. "I told your brother this morning . . . they're not my family. _You_ are. Ron and Hermione are. All of your brothers and your parents; Luna, Neville, and Hagrid; Sirius and Lupin and Tonks. Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall. It doesn't make what the Durlseys did okay – and you're right, Gin, there's more. Isolation mostly, and Dudley's bullying, and Vernon's putrid sister Marge – don't even get me _started_ on Marge – but why focus on all of that? Why think about people who didn't think about me when I needed them to?"

"But doesn't it make you angry?"

"Yes," he said, and he felt her relax a little. "I know I didn't deserve it. I know I was only a child."

She reached up and took his hand off her face, holding it in both of her own. "That makes me feel better. It shouldn't, but it does."

He smiled a little. "I just want a life now," he whispered.

Ginny returned his smile softly, and then leaned up to kiss him. "You promised me right after the battle at Hogwarts that you'd tell me everything about what happened."

"I think I have," he replied, and took her hand to walk with her again. "In this orchard. . . . At one time or another."

"I'm not going to make you promise to tell me everything about the Dursleys," she said. "But I am going to make you promise that if you _need_ to talk about it, or just _want_ to, or if something happens and it reminds you of those awful people, that you'll come to me."

He smiled and looked over at her. "I promise," he said. "There's no one else I'd rather have for that."

* * *

><p>Harry Potter was no stranger to nightmares. He'd had them, off and on, from a very young age – from the brief flashbacks of his mother's death, to Dementor attacks, to being inside of Voldemort's head – and had developed a way of coping with them, for the most part. While at the Dursleys' house, he would focus on the light filtering in through the gaps in the door, or make imaginary friends with spiders, or allow the steadiness of his uncle's snoring to soothe him back into sleep, however restless it became. At Hogwarts, or wherever he stayed in between, he was reminded, because Ron slept in the bed next to his own, that he was finally somewhere he belonged, with friends and people who loved him.<p>

Typically, while he, Ron, and Hermione were on the run, none of them got sleep enough for a nightmare to invade, but if one chanced to come along, someone was always awake.

At the Burrow, following the battle of Hogwarts, Ron was right next to him. He expected the nightmares but they didn't come. He suspected this was because he was so incredibly exhausted and relieved. Some nights he suspected Mrs. Weasley of slightly underhanded magic to achieve sleep for those in her care, but he didn't argue.

But once Ginny finished her extended sixth year of school, and he returned to number twelve Grimmauld Place to call it his home, it became steadily more difficult to sleep. He never really wanted the tea Mrs. Weasley had offered in the evenings, when that family traditionally sat in the sitting room to read, or knit, or play chess, but he had always accepted it. Now he had no routine, no traditions, no one to offer him tea. The big empty house, while clean, was still dark and held very little in the way of pleasant memories. If anything, it only served to remind him of his dead godfather.

The first time he was startled awake by a nightmare following the end of the war, he was only surprised that it had taken as long as it had. But there was no snoring, this time, to soothe him back to sleep, nor were there any friendly souls – including spiders – nearby to remind him of all he had to take comfort in.

As much as he hated to admit it – even to Ginny, who he knew wouldn't pass judgment on him for what he thought he should have long gotten over – he still occasionally had nightmares of being trapped. He knew that these stemmed from when he was very small and terrified of the cupboard. They were usually mixed up with all the other things that frightened him; sometimes even Dudley still made an appearance. And on the night he returned from his last trip to number 4 Privet Drive, even though he enjoyed a long walk with Ginny, and a delightful dinner from Mrs. Weasley, who still thought he was too skinny, and a game of chess with Ron, he woke up in Sirius's old bedroom covered in a sheen of sweat, pointing his wand at the nothing that was there.

He dearly wished for Ginny, and wondered whether Ron or Hermione were having nightmares. Now that they, too, were separated – he at the Burrow and Hermione with her parents – there was also less to comfort his two best mates. He wasn't able to fall back asleep, so he rose instead and made himself a cup of tea, and sat at the table in the basement kitchen reading the Daily Prophet from the previous day. Kreacher found him in the morning; asleep, his head rested on his left forearm, and his right hand curled around a cup of tea, gone stone cold.

* * *

><p>Two days later was the highly anticipated Quidditch match between the Holyhead Harpies and Puddlemere United. Harry and Ginny were both fairly well keyed up – it was their first proper date and the first professional Quidditch either of them had seen in a very long time, and it was also the first professional Quidditch match in Britain since the fall of Voldemort.<p>

Harry appeared at the Burrow to pick up Ginny. He had gotten his Apparition license; she had practiced but wouldn't be able to take her test until she turned seventeen. It felt odd to knock at the door of a place where he felt more at home than the townhouse where he lived.

Mr. Weasley answered with a huge grin on his face. "Mr. Potter!" he declared, not a hint of ridicule at his silly behavior. "Welcome, welcome, of course. Ginny will be down in just a moment."

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley," said Harry, smiling as he stepped inside. Mrs. Weasley was right there in the kitchen, and she hugged and kissed him like she always had. He noted that she was looking relatively well – she'd lost a bit of weight in the last two and a half months, but the bags under her eyes didn't seem quite so heavy; her smile seemed a little wider.

She, however, was not even close to being pleased with his appearance. "You look exhausted!" she said, shaking her head and holding him at arm's length. "Aren't you sleeping? Have Kingsley and Gawain been keeping you until all hours?"

Artfully, Harry sidestepped her question. "No, not at all. How are you, Mrs. Weasley?"

"Just fine, Harry, thank you . . . you're still far, far too skinny," she claimed with a smile, and then let go of him to rifle through her kitchen. Mr. Weasley turned to him to engage in conversation about the goings-on in the Auror Department, and in a moment Mrs. Weasley had handed Harry a plate with a thick slice of buttered pumpkin bread.

He was just finishing it and thanking Mrs. Weasley when Ginny bounded down the stairs. Her face was flushed; a silver barrette held her hair back from her face, and she wore trainers, jeans, and a green and gold Harpies jersey.

"Hi, Harry," she said, with the brightest smile Harry had seen on her in a long time. He couldn't help but return it.

"Hi, Gin."

"Dad got me this jersey the other day, before we got to-" She stopped suddenly; her smile faltered and her eyes clouded over for a fraction of a second. Harry knew what she'd been about to say, and smiled and put his hand on her arm. "When we were in Wales," she finished, smiling again. "I cannot _wait_ to see this match! Let's go!"

The Weasley elders asked for the details of their return and then waved them off, both smiling at Ginny's enthusiasm. As they walked away from the Burrow and up the hill to the Apparition point, Harry couldn't help the grin on his own face – Ginny's high spirits were infectious.

She admired him as they reached the top, which was protected from Muggle eyes by a grove of oak trees shielding it from the village. "I like seeing that smile," she said quietly. "It'll be a shame to have to cover it up."

He shrugged ruefully. "It's this or a whole lot of attention. And you just want to see Quidditch."

"I do," she said with a smile. "But first. . . ." She leaned in and gave him a long, lingering kiss, and he put his hands on her hips and pulled her close while her fingers entwined themselves in his hair. He opened his eyes when she pulled her lips gently away, and met her lovely brown ones, and smiled as he felt warmth in his chest. She pulled away slowly and smiled back, smoothing his hair in a futile attempt to tame it. "Best get on with it."

Harry covered his scar, turned his hair mousy brown, and gave himself a goatee with a wave of his wand. Ginny removed his glasses, tucked them in his shirt pocket, and then turned his eyes blue.

"How do I look?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Decent enough."

He smiled and pulled her close to him, kissed her nose, and then Apparated away.

* * *

><p>The stadium in Wales where the Harpies played was absurdly crowded. Security wizards and witches were all over, recognizable by their black robes streaked with the Harpies' green and gold. Harry had told Ginny – and more importantly, Ginny's parents – that the security was supplemented by Aurors, as momentous as the occasion was.<p>

Ginny held tightly to Harry's hand as she took everything in. She was quiet for a little while, watching vendors and excited children, but couldn't contain herself for long. She commented on the others she saw wearing Gwenog Jones' jersey, and then it became commonplace; there were just as many sporting Puddlemere jerseys and colors.

Happily, Harry and Ginny explored the stadium, and shared an order of chips – which Ginny insisted on paying for, since it was she taking him on a date – before they decided they'd better find their seats. As they were walking toward the stands, Ginny heard her name.

"Weasley!"

A year ago, the name might have meant someone to those actively involved in the resistance. Six months ago, it might've gotten her arrested and questioned. Merlin knew how often she and other Gryffindors had been questioned at Hogwarts about Harry's whereabouts, despite the fact that they knew absolutely nothing about where he was.

Now, however, that the world knew what her brother had had a hand in, now that all nine of the Weasleys were war heroes, in one way or another, the name caused Quidditch fans in the immediate area to pause and turn in the direction of the speaker.

It was, comfortingly, a smiling Gwenog Jones. She approached, eyeing the disguised Harry before thumping Ginny on the arm.

"Glad to see you here!" she said.

"Yeah," said Ginny nervously. "Yeah, I'm excited – it's been ages since I've seen any good Quidditch."

"I hope we can deliver for you," said Gwenog, and then flicked her eyes to Harry. "Who's your friend?"

"Oh! Oh, this is, erm. . . . This is my friend. James. James, this is Gwen. I mean – Gwenog Jones."

Ginny was as bright pink as Harry had ever seen Ron, and Harry smiled as he reached for Gwenog's hand. "I'm pleased to meet you," he said, laughing a little as he noted that she had an iron grip.

"Yeah, likewise," said Gwenog. Then she turned back to Ginny. "Well. I've got to get back to the locker room and get the girls ready to whip some Puddlemere backside. Stick around after the match, if you can – I'll try to catch up with you again!"

They waved to Gwenog as she walked away, and then turned toward the stadium again to search for their seats. Both Harry and Ginny noted that eyes, and some feet, followed them in their journey. Ginny's face remained pink from embarrassment, partially from her encounter with the Quidditch star and partially from the waves and nods she was getting.

When they finally reached their seats it was just before the match began. The Welsh and British flags had been raised and everyone was on their feet, some solemnly awaiting the anthem and some continuing to cheer boisterously. Harry and Ginny were of the solemn type, holding hands tightly but silently celebrating just being there together as they shared an adoring smile.

Following the anthem the cheering and hooting and hollering began in earnest, particularly once the Harpies were announced, one by one flying around the arena in blurs of green and gold. Harry and Ginny hardly sat at all during the match. They loudly cheered each Harpies goal and growled at the Keepers when Puddlemere scored. Aggression was rampant on both sides, but there wasn't a player that got close to the stands on whose face the spectators couldn't see, however clouded with concentration and an inherent need to dominate, a smile.

In the end, the Harpies' Seeker, Victoria Palmieri, caught the snitch so close to the ground she crashed into it.

Harry cringed. "Ooh," he said, his face squished up. "I know what that feels like."

Ginny turned to him to laugh and ask in which match he'd fallen like that and gasped. "Your face!" she whispered urgently.

Harry put his hand up to his mouth, where his goatee was now only very sparse, which made him realize that his hair was probably darkening, his eyes were turning green, and – most condemning – his scar was re-appearing. With a flick of his wand and mumbled spells he'd restored his masked appearance, thankful that everyone else had been too busy celebrating the Harpies' win and focusing on Palmieri to notice.

Ginny laughed a little, relieved. "That was close."

He smiled, and leaned in to kiss her gently on the lips. She rubbed her own face when he pulled away. "Don't grow any facial hair," she said, wrinkling her nose. He blushed a little, but laughed at her expression.

They decided to hang back in their seats a while, while everyone else cleared out.

"Sounded like Palmieri's got a broken arm and nose, but is otherwise okay," said Ginny. "Hope she doesn't need too much down time before their match next week against the Arrows."

Harry grinned at her and shifted in his seat so he had a better angle to view her from. "Seekers are a tough lot," he said.

She straightened. "Oh . . . yes. Because you seekers, you have _so_ much to do . . . fly around a bit, look pretty on a broom. It's so _difficult_ to catch a little glittery ball."

"Well if it's so easy, Weasley, why can't you do it?"

"I choose _not_ to," retorted Ginny, her eyes glinting. "I'd rather be in the thick of the game, actually _doing_ something."

Harry didn't reply for a moment, he just admired her, still flushed from the excitement of the game. He grinned, and leaned down to kiss her, softly, so that his goatee didn't scratch her face. "You played seeker once."

"Yes," she said. "Best day of my life."

He smiled and leaned in again to kiss her softly. They decided after a few more minutes to head out of the stadium, and thought if Gwenog was still around, she'd seek them out there. They were holding hands and walking in circles, watching the vendors pack up and clear out, when Gwenog Jones strode across the courtyard.

"Weasley!" she called with a wave. She was still wearing her game robes. "I'm glad you haven't left!"

"Hello!" said Ginny, hurrying over. "Excellent match! Congratulations!"

"It was excellent," said Gwenog. "We're still celebrating in the locker room."

"How's Palmieri?" asked Ginny.

Gwenog waved a hand. "Oh, she's fine. A little rest tonight and she'll be ready for practice tomorrow. Where are you two off to, then?"

"Just about to head home," said Ginny. "We'll be just in time for supper – did you want to join us?"

"Lovely of you to ask, but I'll be eating with the team tonight – lots of celebrations going on," said Gwenog. Then she looked up at Harry, as if she'd just noticed him. "Did you enjoy the match – what was it? – James?"

"Absolutely, it was brilliant," said Harry genuinely.

"I don't recall seeing you at Hogwarts when I visited," said the Quidditch star.

"Oh – well – I'm done, you know. With Hogwarts." He hoped the heat he felt in his cheeks wasn't visible.

"Ah. Big plans for the future?"

"Well," he fumbled, "I was thinking – you know, I hoped, maybe, I'd erm . . . I'd join the Aurors?"

Gwen shrugged. "I suppose they're in need of people," she said. Then she turned to Ginny. "Listen, Weasley . . . . I noted the other day that you play on a broom older than you are."

Ginny blushed and shrugged a little. "It works," she replied. "There's nine in my family, I . . . new brooms just aren't on the priority list."

"I didn't grow up with much, either," she said, and it helped Ginny's discomfort. "I didn't mean to call it out like that. It's just – you're solid Chaser, Weasley. I think you have a lot of talent. Problem is, it's hiding in the amount of effort you have to expend to control a broom that wasn't meant for Quidditch. If you had a good racing broom – something responsive and quick – your talent would be much more apparent."

"You really think the broom makes that big a difference?"

"For individual performance, yes. The right equipment for the job. Now I'll grant you, nothing wins a match like teamwork, but when the scouts come to watch you play, they're not paying attention to the score."

Ginny's eyes went wide. "Scouts? You mean, like _Quidditch_ scouts? You think scouts will come watch us play?"

She smiled again. "No, Weasley. Scouts will come watch _you_ play. Because I'll tell them to. And if they don't, once you're graduated, be sure to get yourself to some tryouts, whether it's for us or not."

A grin started to spread across Ginny's face. "You really think I could play professional Quidditch?"

"Yes, absolutely!" declared Gwenog. "Now listen, I've got to go – I'm told there's fire whiskey waiting for me – but I really will drop by Hogwarts and watch you play. But don't take it personally if I'm cheering for Hufflepuff – that's my house."

"Of course – sure – I'm looking forward to it," said Ginny, her face that bright red again.

"See you around, Weasley!" Gwenog waved, and started to walk away, but then turned back. "Oh, and . . . erm . . . James." She pointed at Harry.

"Right," said Harry, but she just continued walking.

* * *

><p>Thanks so much for continuing to read!<p> 


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